Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1041. Ambition Cannot Find Him 1/13/2003
1042. Death Is Potential To That Man 1/13/2003
1043. Bereavement In Their Death To Feel 1/13/2003
1044. Could Live—did Live 1/1/2004
1045. Elysium Is As Far As To 5/14/2001
1046. A Visitor In Marl 1/13/2003
1047. Because The Bee May Blameless Hum 1/13/2003
1048. There Is No Frigate Like A Book 5/15/2001
1049. How Happy Is The Little Stone 1/13/2003
1050. I’ll Tell You How The Sun Rose 1/3/2003
1051. I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce 5/15/2001
1052. As Far From Pity, As Complaint 1/13/2003
1053. A Transport One Cannot Contain 1/13/2003
1054. Despair's Advantage Is Achieved 1/13/2003
1055. Do People Moulder Equally 1/13/2003
1056. Your Riches—taught Me—poverty 1/1/2004
1057. It Is An Honorable Thought, 5/15/2001
1058. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
1059. I Started Early - Took My Dog 1/3/2003
1060. A Tooth Upon Our Peace 1/13/2003
1061. It Sifts From Leaden Sieves 1/13/2003
1062. Before The Ice Is In The Pools 1/13/2003
1063. It Always Felt To Me—a Wrong 1/1/2004
1064. Awake Ye Muses Nine, Sing Me A Strain Divine 1/13/2003
1065. T Was Just This Time Last Year I Died. 5/14/2001
1066. A Throe Upon The Features 1/13/2003
1067. Although I Put Away His Life 1/13/2003
1068. Beclouded 1/3/2003
1069. Besides The Autumn Poets Sing 1/13/2003
1070. Did Our Best Moment Last 1/13/2003
1071. Death Sets A Thing Of Signigicant 5/14/2001
1072. Crumbling Is Not An Instant's Act 1/13/2003
1073. An Ignorance A Sunset 1/13/2003
1074. All These My Banners Be 1/13/2003
1075. A South Wind&Mdash;Has A Pathos 1/13/2003
1076. Dreams&Mdash;Are Well&Mdash;But Waking's Better 1/13/2003
1077. I Measure Every Grief I Meet (561) 1/20/2003
1078. You'Ll Know It—as You Know 'Tis Noon 1/1/2004
1079. For Every Bird A Nest 1/13/2003
1080. As By The Dead We Love To Sit 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 Send Two Sunsets

308

I send Two Sunsets—
Day and I—in competition ran—
I finished Two—and several Stars—
While He—was making One—

His own was ampler—but as I
Was saying to a friend—
Mine—is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand—

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