Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

Emily Dickinson Poems

801. They Say That 'Time Assuages, 5/15/2001
802. The Railway Train 1/1/2004
803. To Make One's Toilette&Mdash;After Death 1/13/2003
804. Good Morning—midnight 1/1/2004
805. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers 1/13/2003
806. That First Day, When You Praised Me, Sweet 1/13/2003
807. 'Twas A Long Parting&Mdash;But The Time 1/13/2003
808. The Angle Of A Landscape 1/13/2003
809. Wait Till The Majesty Of Death 1/13/2003
810. To Offer Brave Assistance 1/13/2003
811. Going To Him! Happy Letter! Tell Him-- 5/14/2001
812. To This World She Returned 1/13/2003
813. Unto My Books—so Good To Turn 1/1/2004
814. He Fumbles At Your Spirit 5/14/2001
815. I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes 1/13/2003
816. Two Travellers Perishing In Snow 1/13/2003
817. How Fortunate The Grave 1/13/2003
818. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
819. My Life Had Stood 1/3/2003
820. It Will Be Summer—eventually 1/1/2004
821. You Know That Portrait In The Moon 1/13/2003
822. My Friend Must Be A Bird 1/13/2003
823. Life—is What We Make Of It 1/1/2004
824. To Venerate The Simple Days 1/13/2003
825. To Put This World Down, Like A Bundle 1/13/2003
826. Two Swimmers Wrestled On The Spar 1/13/2003
827. It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation 1/13/2003
828. Within My Garden, Rides A Bird 1/13/2003
829. Inconceivably Solemn! 1/13/2003
830. I'M Ceded—i'Ve Stopped Being Theirs 1/1/2004
831. I Hide Myself Within My Flower 1/13/2003
832. Victory Comes Late 1/13/2003
833. I Dreaded That First Robin, So 1/13/2003
834. One Sister Have I In Our House 1/13/2003
835. To Own The Art Within The Soul 1/13/2003
836. Take Your Heaven Further On 1/13/2003
837. She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades 1/13/2003
838. I Reason, Earth Is Short 1/13/2003
839. This Is My Letter To The World, 5/15/2001
840. Triumph—may Be Of Several Kinds 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Emily Dickinson

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

'Hope' is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Read the full of Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

Ah, Teneriffe!

666

Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages—pause for you—
Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regiment—
Day—drops you her Red Adieu!

Still—Clad in your Mail of ices—

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