Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

881. It Was A Grave, Yet Bore No Stone 1/13/2003
882. Split The Lark&Mdash;And You'Ll Find The Music 1/13/2003
883. Essential Oils—are Wrung 1/1/2004
884. Sweet&Mdash;You Forgot&Mdash;But I Remembered 1/13/2003
885. Experience Is The Angled Road 1/13/2003
886. Some, Too Fragile For Winter Winds 1/13/2003
887. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
888. Sweet, To Have Had Them Lost 1/13/2003
889. Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss 1/13/2003
890. Exhilaration—is Within 1/1/2004
891. For Largest Woman's Hearth I Knew 1/13/2003
892. Is It True, Dear Sue? 1/13/2003
893. Fame Is The Tine That Scholars Leave 1/13/2003
894. Have You Got A Brook In Your Little Heart 1/13/2003
895. A Little Dog That Wags His Tail 1/6/2015
896. It Dropped So Low In My Regard 5/15/2001
897. I Reason, Earth Is Short 1/13/2003
898. I Cannot Live With You (No. 640) 1/20/2003
899. You Love Me—you Are Sure 1/1/2004
900. It Ceased To Hurt Me, Though So Slow 1/13/2003
901. Such Is The Force Of Happiness 1/13/2003
902. Drab Habitation Of Whom? 1/13/2003
903. Forget! The Lady With The Amulet 1/13/2003
904. It Did Not Surprise Me 1/13/2003
905. Each Scar I'Ll Keep For Him 1/13/2003
906. Garland For Queens, May Be 1/13/2003
907. By Such And Such An Offering 1/13/2003
908. Conjecturing A Climate 1/13/2003
909. Sweet Mountains—ye Tell Me No Lie 1/1/2004
910. Elysium Is As Far As To 5/14/2001
911. It Knew No Medicine 1/13/2003
912. Frequently The Wood Are Pink 1/13/2003
913. Finite—to Fail, But Infinite To Venture 1/1/2004
914. But Little Carmine Hath Her Face 1/13/2003
915. Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning 1/13/2003
916. By Chivalries As Tiny 1/13/2003
917. It Struck Me Every Day 5/15/2001
918. Nature, The Gentlest Mother, 5/15/2001
919. Nobody Knows This Little Rose 1/13/2003
920. Sweet&Mdash;Safe&Mdash;Houses 1/13/2003

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Uriah Hamilton (7/12/2005 9:01:00 AM)

    Quietly in her room,
    Emily Dickinson
    created a universe of poetry!

    22 person liked.
    22 person did not like.
  • Pickled Onion (1/29/2005 6:34:00 AM)

    Your poem reminded me of part of your surname

  • 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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