Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

841. It Troubled Me As Once I Was 1/13/2003
842. It Will Be Summer—eventually 1/1/2004
843. Sweet—you Forgot—but I Remembered 1/1/2004
844. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
845. The Chariot 4/28/2011
846. 'Twas Like A Maelstrom, With A Notch 1/13/2003
847. To Lose One's Faith&Mdash;Surpass 1/13/2003
848. 'Twas Just This Time, Last Year, I Died 1/13/2003
849. I Took My Power In My Hand 1/13/2003
850. Teach Him—when He Makes The Names 1/1/2004
851. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers 1/13/2003
852. South Winds Jostle Them 1/13/2003
853. She Dealt Her Pretty Words Like Blades 1/13/2003
854. Twas Such A Little—little Boat 1/1/2004
855. Triumph—may Be Of Several Kinds 1/1/2004
856. The Sky Is Low, The Clouds Are Mean, 5/15/2001
857. Good Morning—midnight 1/1/2004
858. Dropped Into The Ether Acre 1/13/2003
859. I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes 1/13/2003
860. I Hide Myself Within My Flower 1/13/2003
861. Trust In The Unexpected 1/13/2003
862. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
863. It Was Too Late For Man 1/13/2003
864. How The Old Mountains Drip With Sunset 1/13/2003
865. Sown In Dishonor 1/13/2003
866. Strong Draughts Of Their Refreshing Minds 1/13/2003
867. One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted, 5/15/2001
868. 'Twas Love—not Me 1/1/2004
869. Is It True, Dear Sue? 1/13/2003
870. It Ceased To Hurt Me, Though So Slow 1/13/2003
871. Fame Of Myself, To Justify 1/13/2003
872. It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation 1/13/2003
873. Soul, Wilt Thou Toss Again? 1/13/2003
874. work For Immortality 1/1/2004
875. Cocoon Above! Cocoon Below! 1/13/2003
876. 'Twas Warm—at First—like Us 1/1/2004
877. It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone 1/13/2003
878. Essential Oils—are Wrung 1/1/2004
879. It Did Not Surprise Me 1/13/2003
880. Sweet&Mdash;You Forgot&Mdash;But I Remembered 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

Ah, Teneriffe!


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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