Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

961. Forever—it Composed Of Nows 1/1/2004
962. A Great Hope Fell 12/6/2014
963. How Happy I Was If I Could Forget 1/13/2003
964. Did The Harebell Loose Her Girdle 1/13/2003
965. I Like To See It Lap The Miles, 5/15/2001
966. Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! 1/13/2003
967. Bereaved Of All, I Went Abroad 1/13/2003
968. Empty My Heart, Of Thee 1/13/2003
969. Bloom Upon The Mountain—stated 1/1/2004
970. Between My Country—and The Others 1/1/2004
971. As The Starved Maelstrom Laps The Navies 1/13/2003
972. Fairer Through Fading—as The Day 1/1/2004
973. Best Things Dwell Out Of Sight 1/13/2003
974. Color—caste—denomination 1/1/2004
975. As Frost Is Best Conceived 1/13/2003
976. Banish Air From Air&Mdash; 1/13/2003
977. Could I But Ride Indefinite 1/13/2003
978. Baffled For Just A Day Or Two 1/13/2003
979. It Can'T Be "Summer"! 1/13/2003
980. Fitter To See Him, I May Be 1/13/2003
981. It Is Easy To Work When The Soul Is At Play 1/13/2003
982. Train 1/3/2003
983. A Little Dog That Wags His Tail 1/6/2015
984. As Watchers Hang Upon The East 1/13/2003
985. All Circumstances Are The Frame 1/13/2003
986. To Wait An Hour—is Long 1/1/2004
987. Delayed Till She Had Ceased To Know 1/13/2003
988. You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot 1/1/2004
989. If You Were Coming In The Fall, 5/15/2001
990. Civilization&Mdash;Spurns&Mdash;The Leopard! 1/13/2003
991. That I Did Always Love 1/13/2003
992. Endow The Living—with The Tears 1/1/2004
993. Surgeons Must Be Very Careful 1/13/2003
994. Suspense—is Hostiler Than Death 1/1/2004
995. As If I Asked A Common Alms 1/13/2003
996. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
997. Besides This May 1/13/2003
998. For Death—or Rather 1/1/2004
999. Four Trees—upon A Solitary Acre 1/1/2004
1000. Delight Becomes Pictorial 5/14/2001
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!

666

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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