Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

961. By My Window Have I For Scenery 1/13/2003
962. Did The Harebell Loose Her Girdle 1/13/2003
963. It Was Given To Me By The Gods 1/13/2003
964. Before He Comes We Weigh The Time! 1/13/2003
965. Bereaved Of All, I Went Abroad 1/13/2003
966. Empty My Heart, Of Thee 1/13/2003
967. Bloom Upon The Mountain—stated 1/1/2004
968. Bound&Mdash;A Trouble 1/13/2003
969. Between My Country—and The Others 1/1/2004
970. Nobody Knows This Little Rose 1/13/2003
971. Best Things Dwell Out Of Sight 1/13/2003
972. It Is An Honorable Thought, 5/15/2001
973. Drama's Vitallest Expression Is The Common Day 1/13/2003
974. As Frost Is Best Conceived 1/13/2003
975. Doom Is The House Without The Door 1/13/2003
976. Superfluous Were The Sun 1/13/2003
977. The Bee Is Not Afraid Of Me 1/13/2003
978. Artists Wrestled Here! 1/13/2003
979. Could I But Ride Indefinite 1/13/2003
980. It Can'T Be "Summer"! 1/13/2003
981. Unable Are The Loved To Die 1/13/2003
982. Do People Moulder Equally 1/13/2003
983. Fitter To See Him, I May Be 1/13/2003
984. Train 1/3/2003
985. To Wait An Hour—is Long 1/1/2004
986. Delayed Till She Had Ceased To Know 1/13/2003
987. You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot 1/1/2004
988. From Blank To Blank 1/13/2003
989. Civilization&Mdash;Spurns&Mdash;The Leopard! 1/13/2003
990. Arcturus 1/1/2004
991. Surgeons Must Be Very Careful 1/13/2003
992. Don'T Put Up My Thread And Needle 1/13/2003
993. As If I Asked A Common Alms 1/13/2003
994. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
995. Besides This May 1/13/2003
996. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
997. For Death—or Rather 1/1/2004
998. Four Trees—upon A Solitary Acre 1/1/2004
999. Delight Becomes Pictorial 5/14/2001
1000. Summer For Thee, Grant I May Be 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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