Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

881. 'Twas Love—not Me 1/1/2004
882. Victory Comes Late 1/13/2003
883. It Tossed—and Tossed 1/1/2004
884. Fame Of Myself, To Justify 1/13/2003
885. work For Immortality 1/1/2004
886. 'Twas Warm—at First—like Us 1/1/2004
887. It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone 1/13/2003
888. Split The Lark&Mdash;And You'Ll Find The Music 1/13/2003
889. Essential Oils—are Wrung 1/1/2004
890. It Did Not Surprise Me 1/13/2003
891. Sweet&Mdash;You Forgot&Mdash;But I Remembered 1/13/2003
892. Nature Is What We See— 1/1/2004
893. Soto! Explore Thyself! 1/13/2003
894. Some, Too Fragile For Winter Winds 1/13/2003
895. I Gave Myself To Him 1/13/2003
896. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
897. Sweet, To Have Had Them Lost 1/13/2003
898. Exhilaration—is Within 1/1/2004
899. Snow Flakes 1/13/2003
900. For Largest Woman's Hearth I Knew 1/13/2003
901. Fame Is The Tine That Scholars Leave 1/13/2003
902. Nobody Knows This Little Rose 1/13/2003
903. It Is A Lonesome Glee 1/13/2003
904. Such Is The Force Of Happiness 1/13/2003
905. I Took My Power In My Hand 1/13/2003
906. It Ceased To Hurt Me, Though So Slow 1/13/2003
907. It Don'T Sound So Terrible—quite—as It Did 1/1/2004
908. Drab Habitation Of Whom? 1/13/2003
909. Forget! The Lady With The Amulet 1/13/2003
910. How Far Is It To Heaven? 1/13/2003
911. Conjecturing A Climate 1/13/2003
912. Sweet Mountains—ye Tell Me No Lie 1/1/2004
913. Frequently The Wood Are Pink 1/13/2003
914. Houses—so The Wise Men Tell Me— 1/1/2004
915. Finite—to Fail, But Infinite To Venture 1/1/2004
916. One Year Ago—jots What? 1/1/2004
917. Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning 1/13/2003
918. But Little Carmine Hath Her Face 1/13/2003
919. It Bloomed And Dropt, A Single Noon 1/13/2003
920. Cocoon Above! Cocoon Below! 1/13/2003
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 Send Two Sunsets

308

I send Two Sunsets—
Day and I—in competition ran—
I finished Two—and several Stars—
While He—was making One—

His own was ampler—but as I
Was saying to a friend—
Mine—is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand—

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