Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1201. A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! 1/13/2003
1202. A Door Just Opened On A Street 5/14/2001
1203. Success Is Counted Sweetest 12/31/2002
1204. A Narrow Fellow In The Grass 5/14/2001
1205. A Drop Fell On The Apple Tree 5/14/2001
1206. 'Morning' Means 'Milking' To The Farmer 1/13/2003
1207. "Houses"&Mdash;So The Wise Men Tell Me 1/13/2003
1208. 'They Have Not Chosen Me,' He Said 1/13/2003
1209. If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, 5/15/2001
1210. A Secret Told 1/13/2003
1211. A Death Blow Is A Life Blow To Some 1/13/2003
1212. A Light Exists In Spring 5/14/2001
1213. A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown 1/13/2003
1214. 'Speech'—is A Prank Of Parliament 1/13/2003
1215. A Clock Stopped -- Not The Mantel's 5/14/2001
1216. "I Want"&Mdash;It Pleaded&Mdash;All Its Life 1/13/2003
1217. 'Arcturus' Is His Other Name 1/13/2003
1218. A Charm Invests A Face 1/13/2003
1219. "Unto Me?" I Do Not Know You 1/13/2003
1220. A Cloud Withdrew From The Sky 1/13/2003
1221. I'M Nobody! Who Are You? 5/15/2001
1222. A Coffin—is A Small Domain 1/13/2003
1223. A Dying Tiger&Mdash;Moaned For Drink 1/13/2003
1224. Because I Could Not Stop For Death 1/20/2003
1225. "Heaven" Has Different Signs&Mdash;To Me 1/13/2003
1226. "Heaven"—Is What I Cannot Reach! 1/13/2003
1227. A Bird Came Down 5/14/2001
1228. "Nature" Is What We See 1/13/2003
1229. A Book 1/3/2003
1230. "Faith" Is A Fine Invention 1/13/2003
1231. "Why Do I Love" You, Sir? 1/13/2003
1232. Hope Is The Thing With Feathers 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

And This Of All My Hopes

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And this of all my Hopes
This, is the silent end
Bountiful colored, my Morning rose
Early and sere, its end

Never Bud from a Stem
Stepped with so gay a Foot
Never a Worm so confident
Bored at so brave a Root

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