Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1121. A Science&Mdash;So The Savants Say 1/13/2003
1122. We Grow Accustomed To The Dark 1/3/2003
1123. You left me—Sire—two Legacies 1/13/2003
1124. A Wounded Deer&Mdash;Leaps Highest 1/13/2003
1125. A Toad Can Die Of Light! 1/1/2004
1126. A Nearness To Tremendousness 1/13/2003
1127. A Mien To Move A Queen 1/13/2003
1128. Fame Is A Bee 1/13/2003
1129. Summer Shower 1/3/2003
1130. Fame Is A Fickle Food (1659) 1/20/2003
1131. Bird 1/3/2003
1132. All But Death, Can Be Adjusted 1/13/2003
1133. A Thought Went Up My Mind To-Day 5/14/2001
1134. I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain (280) 1/20/2003
1135. As If The Sea Should Part 1/13/2003
1136. Will There Really Be A "Morning"? 1/13/2003
1137. To Make A Prairie (1755) 1/20/2003
1138. I Like A Look Of Agony 1/13/2003
1139. Faith—is The Pierless Bridge 1/1/2004
1140. You'Re Right— 1/1/2004
1141. An Altered Look About The Hills 1/13/2003
1142. An English Breeze 5/14/2001
1143. Chartless 1/3/2003
1144. A Night&Mdash;There Lay The Days Between 1/13/2003
1145. Adrift! A Little Boat Adrift! 1/13/2003
1146. A Precious—mouldering Pleasure 1/1/2004
1147. A Wife&Mdash;At Daybreak I Shall Be 1/13/2003
1148. Behind Me Dips Eternity 1/13/2003
1149. A Man May Make A Remark 1/13/2003
1150. Always Mine! 1/13/2003
1151. I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died; 5/15/2001
1152. Again&Mdash;His Voice Is At The Door 1/13/2003
1153. The Soul Selects Her Own Society 1/3/2003
1154. A Solemn Thing Within The Soul 1/13/2003
1155. I Dwell In Possibility 1/13/2003
1156. As Imperceptibly As Grief 1/13/2003
1157. Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup 1/13/2003
1158. A Shade Upon The Mind There Passes 1/13/2003
1159. Much Madness Is Divinest Sense 1/3/2003
1160. All The Letters I Can Write 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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