Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

881. Sweet&Mdash;You Forgot&Mdash;But I Remembered 1/13/2003
882. If I Could Bribe Them By A Rose 1/13/2003
883. Experience Is The Angled Road 1/13/2003
884. I Reason, Earth Is Short 1/13/2003
885. It Troubled Me As Once I Was 1/13/2003
886. Soto! Explore Thyself! 1/13/2003
887. Some, Too Fragile For Winter Winds 1/13/2003
888. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
889. Sweet, To Have Had Them Lost 1/13/2003
890. Exhilaration—is Within 1/1/2004
891. It Knew No Medicine 1/13/2003
892. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
893. For Largest Woman's Hearth I Knew 1/13/2003
894. Fame Is The Tine That Scholars Leave 1/13/2003
895. Have You Got A Brook In Your Little Heart 1/13/2003
896. In Winter In My Room 1/13/2003
897. Snow Flakes 1/13/2003
898. It Is A Lonesome Glee 1/13/2003
899. I Cannot Live With You (No. 640) 1/20/2003
900. You Love Me—you Are Sure 1/1/2004
901. It Don'T Sound So Terrible—quite—as It Did 1/1/2004
902. Such Is The Force Of Happiness 1/13/2003
903. Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss 1/13/2003
904. Drab Habitation Of Whom? 1/13/2003
905. Forget! The Lady With The Amulet 1/13/2003
906. It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone 1/13/2003
907. Each Scar I'Ll Keep For Him 1/13/2003
908. Garland For Queens, May Be 1/13/2003
909. Conjecturing A Climate 1/13/2003
910. Elysium Is As Far As To 5/14/2001
911. Frequently The Wood Are Pink 1/13/2003
912. It Tossed—and Tossed 1/1/2004
913. Finite—to Fail, But Infinite To Venture 1/1/2004
914. One Year Ago—jots What? 1/1/2004
915. But Little Carmine Hath Her Face 1/13/2003
916. It Bloomed And Dropt, A Single Noon 1/13/2003
917. Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning 1/13/2003
918. work For Immortality 1/1/2004
919. By Chivalries As Tiny 1/13/2003
920. I Took My Power In My Hand 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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