Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

801. Soul, Wilt Thou Toss Again? 1/13/2003
802. Impossibility, Like Wine 1/13/2003
803. Two Swimmers Wrestled On The Spar 1/13/2003
804. Under The Light, Yet Under 1/13/2003
805. Undue Significance A Starving Man Attaches 1/13/2003
806. Embarrassment Of One Another 1/13/2003
807. It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation 1/13/2003
808. 'Twas A Long Parting&Mdash;But The Time 1/13/2003
809. Sown In Dishonor 1/13/2003
810. This Quiet Dust Was Gentlemen And Ladies 1/3/2003
811. The Angle Of A Landscape 1/13/2003
812. The Chariot 4/28/2011
813. Strong Draughts Of Their Refreshing Minds 1/13/2003
814. Wait Till The Majesty Of Death 1/13/2003
815. If I Should Die 1/13/2003
816. We Play At Paste, 12/31/2002
817. Is It True, Dear Sue? 1/13/2003
818. To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave 1/13/2003
819. It Will Be Summer—eventually 1/1/2004
820. In Winter In My Room 1/13/2003
821. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
822. Nature, The Gentlest Mother, 5/15/2001
823. Within My Garden, Rides A Bird 1/13/2003
824. I Should Not Dare To Leave My Friend 1/13/2003
825. Take Your Heaven Further On 1/13/2003
826. The Last Night That She Lived 1/13/2003
827. Home 1/3/2003
828. Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss 1/13/2003
829. They Shut Me Up In Prose 1/3/2003
830. To My Quick Ear The Leaves Conferred; 5/15/2001
831. I Tried To Think A Lonelier Thing 1/13/2003
832. To This World She Returned 1/13/2003
833. Unto My Books—so Good To Turn 1/1/2004
834. Escaping Backward To Perceive 1/13/2003
835. You Know That Portrait In The Moon 1/13/2003
836. Two Travellers Perishing In Snow 1/13/2003
837. Good Morning—midnight 1/1/2004
838. I Never Lost As Much But Twice 1/13/2003
839. It Was Too Late For Man 1/13/2003
840. Taking Up The Fair Ideal 1/13/2003

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Pickled Onion (1/29/2005 6:34:00 AM)

    Your poem reminded me of part of your surname

    15 person liked.
    29 person did not like.
  • Theodora Onken (1/16/2005 10:33:00 PM)

    I have always loved Emily Dickinson. She was so quiet and introspective, but had such a gentle gift with words. She spent many an Amherst day writing about the things that touched her so much, and of course, the bee, and nature were amongst her favorite topics. Her gift of writing was discovered later, which is a true shame.

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

I Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth - the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

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