Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1161. A Shade Upon The Mind There Passes 1/13/2003
1162. Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup 1/13/2003
1163. A First Mute Coming 1/13/2003
1164. A Route Of Evanescence 1/3/2003
1165. Again&Mdash;His Voice Is At The Door 1/13/2003
1166. I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died; 5/15/2001
1167. A Sepal, Petal, And A Thorn 1/13/2003
1168. All The Letters I Can Write 1/13/2003
1169. A Poor&Mdash;Torn Heart&Mdash;A Tattered Heart 1/13/2003
1170. A Shady Friend For Torrid Days 5/14/2001
1171. I Never Saw A Moor 1/3/2003
1172. Alone, I Cannot Be 1/13/2003
1173. Bee! I'M Expecting You! 1/13/2003
1174. As Imperceptibly As Grief 1/13/2003
1175. A Lady Red&Mdash;Amid The Hill 1/13/2003
1176. Afraid! Of Whom Am I Afraid? 1/13/2003
1177. A Little East Of Jordan 1/13/2003
1178. A Prison Gets To Be A Friend 1/13/2003
1179. A Loss Of Something Ever Felt I 1/13/2003
1180. A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep 5/14/2001
1181. A House Upon The Height 1/13/2003
1182. After A Hundred Years 5/14/2001
1183. A Feather From The Whippoorwill 1/13/2003
1184. Wild Nights! Wild Nights! 12/31/2002
1185. A Little Bread&Mdash;A Crust&Mdash;A Crumb 1/13/2003
1186. Tell All The Truth 1/3/2003
1187. There Is Another Sky 1/13/2003
1188. Apparently With No Surprise 1/3/2003
1189. A Little Road Not Made Man 5/14/2001
1190. A Happy Lip&Mdash;Breaks Sudden 1/13/2003
1191. A Moth The Hue Of This 1/13/2003
1192. A Slash Of Blue 1/13/2003
1193. After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes 5/14/2001
1194. A Fuzzy Fellow, Without Feet 1/13/2003
1195. Ah, Moon—and Star! 1/1/2004
1196. Ample Make This Bed. 5/14/2001
1197. A Door Just Opened On A Street 5/14/2001
1198. A Doubt If It Be Us 1/13/2003
1199. A Darting Fear&Mdash;A Pomp&Mdash;A Tear 1/13/2003
1200. A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! 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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