Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1001. Surgeons Must Be Very Careful 1/13/2003
1002. As If I Asked A Common Alms 1/13/2003
1003. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
1004. Besides This May 1/13/2003
1005. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
1006. For Death—or Rather 1/1/2004
1007. A Great Hope Fell 12/6/2014
1008. A Little Dog That Wags His Tail 1/6/2015
1009. I Started Early - Took My Dog 1/3/2003
1010. It Sifts From Leaden Sieves 1/13/2003
1011. Crisis Is A Hair 1/13/2003
1012. Be Mine The Doom&Mdash; 1/13/2003
1013. Finding Is The First Act 1/13/2003
1014. Delight Is As The Flight 1/13/2003
1015. 'Tis So Much Joy! 1/13/2003
1016. A Tongue—to Tell Him I Am True! 1/1/2004
1017. It Feels A Shame To Be Alive 1/13/2003
1018. It Always Felt To Me—a Wrong 1/1/2004
1019. For Every Bird A Nest 1/13/2003
1020. Did We Disobey Him? 1/13/2003
1021. Expectation—is Contentment 1/1/2004
1022. Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat? 1/13/2003
1023. Defrauded I A Butterfly 1/13/2003
1024. Blazing In Gold And Quenching In Purple 1/13/2003
1025. Except To Heaven, She Is Nought 1/13/2003
1026. Better—than Music! For I—who Heard It 1/1/2004
1027. By A Flower—by A Letter 1/1/2004
1028. Funny—to Be A Century 1/1/2004
1029. Best Gains—must Have The Losses' Test 1/1/2004
1030. Away From Home Are Some And I— 1/1/2004
1031. Denial&Mdash;Is The Only Fact 1/13/2003
1032. I’ll Tell You How The Sun Rose 1/3/2003
1033. As Sleigh Bells Seem In Summer 1/13/2003
1034. At Least—to Pray—is Left—is Left 1/1/2004
1035. Heart, We Will Forget Him 1/3/2003
1036. And This Of All My Hopes 1/13/2003
1037. A Weight With Needles On The Pounds 1/13/2003
1038. It Dropped So Low -- In My Regard -- 1/3/2003
1039. Before The Ice Is In The Pools 1/13/2003
1040. Ambition Cannot Find Him 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 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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