Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

121. A chilly Peace infests the Grass 2/8/2016
122. Too cold is this 2/19/2016
123. Is It Too Late To Touch You, Dear? 9/10/2015
124. I am afraid to own a Body 11/26/2015
125. The Words The Happy Say 1/9/2015
126. Heavenly Father 1/8/2015
127. Reverse Cannot Befall 1/13/2003
128. What Shall I Do—it Whimpers So 1/1/2004
129. There Are Two Ripenings—one—of Sight 1/1/2004
130. On That Dear Frame The Years Had Worn 1/13/2003
131. This That Would Greet&Mdash;An Hour Ago 1/13/2003
132. The Himmaleh Was Known To Stoop 1/13/2003
133. Least Rivers—docile To Some Sea 1/1/2004
134. They Have A Little Odor—that To Me 1/1/2004
135. To Flee From Memory 1/16/2015
136. The Blue Jay 10/8/2015
137. Shall I take thee, the Poet said 7/29/2015
138. A lane of Yellow led the eye 9/7/2015
139. When a Lover is a Beggar 1/19/2016
140. Exhilaration is the Breeze 1/29/2016
141. March is the Month of Expectation 12/4/2015
142. The Battlefield 5/25/2015
143. Luck is not chance 6/10/2015
144. I Sometimes Drop It, For A Quick 1/13/2003
145. They Ask But Our Delight 1/13/2003
146. 'Tis Anguish Grander Than Delight 1/13/2003
147. Low At My Problem Bending 1/13/2003
148. Kill Your Balm—and Its Odors Bless You 1/1/2004
149. These—saw Visions 1/1/2004
150. The Butterfly Upon The Sky 12/13/2014
151. Yesterday Is History 3/17/2015
152. A little Madness in the Spring 5/5/2015
153. How Lonesome The Wind Must Feel Nights - 5/11/2015
154. I Noticed People Disappeared 4/11/2015
155. Of Brussels—it Was Not 1/1/2004
156. The Night Was Wide, And Furnished Scant 1/13/2003
157. Soil Of Flint, If Steady Tilled 1/13/2003
158. Ideals Are The Fairly Oil 1/13/2003
159. I Want—it Pleaded—all Its Life— 1/1/2004
160. The Grace—myself—might Not Obtain 1/1/2004
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

A Mien To Move A Queen

283

A Mien to move a Queen—
Half Child—Half Heroine—
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear—

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