Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

241. I Sing To Use The Waiting 1/13/2003
242. Of Consciousness, Her Awful Mate 1/13/2003
243. Who Giants Know, With Lesser Men 1/13/2003
244. We Talked As Girls Do 1/13/2003
245. I'Ve Heard An Organ Talk, Sometimes 1/13/2003
246. There Is A Languor Of The Life 1/13/2003
247. The World—stands—solemner—to Me 1/1/2004
248. I Could Not Drink It, Sweet 1/13/2003
249. The Veins Of Other Flowers 1/13/2003
250. There's Something Quieter Than Sleep 1/13/2003
251. No Matter—now—sweet 1/1/2004
252. The Snow That Never Drifts 1/8/2015
253. We Miss Her, Not Because We See 1/13/2003
254. Those Who Have Been In The Grave The Longest 1/13/2003
255. This Was In The White Of The Year 1/13/2003
256. When Katie Walks, This Simple Pair Accompany Her Side 1/13/2003
257. My Best Acquaintances Are Those 1/13/2003
258. The Lamp Burns Sure—within 1/1/2004
259. The Outer—from The Inner 1/1/2004
260. He Strained My Faith 1/13/2003
261. The Sun Is Gay Or Stark 1/13/2003
262. The Sunrise Runs For Both 1/13/2003
263. I Could Die—to Know 1/1/2004
264. The Butterfly Upon The Sky 12/13/2014
265. Yesterday Is History 3/17/2015
266. Some Such Butterfly Be Seen 1/13/2003
267. What If I Say I Shall Not Wait! 1/13/2003
268. What Shall I Do When The Summer Troubles 1/13/2003
269. The Whole Of It Came Not At Once 1/13/2003
270. The Soul's Distinct Connection 1/13/2003
271. He Told A Homely Tale 1/13/2003
272. The Grace—myself—might Not Obtain 1/1/2004
273. His Feet Are Shod With Gauze 1/13/2003
274. His Bill An Auger Is 1/13/2003
275. If What We Could&Mdash;Were What We Would 1/13/2003
276. Of Silken Speech And Specious Shoe 1/13/2003
277. The Robin For The Crumb 1/13/2003
278. The Poets Light But Lamps 1/13/2003
279. The Morning After Woe 1/13/2003
280. Publication 1/3/2003

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Gary Manning (3/24/2017 12:14:00 PM)

    This poem is reproduced incorrectly. The words in leafy wood do not appear in the one transcript of this poem extant. No autograph copy of this poem is known, according to Thomas H. Johnson.

    22 person liked.
    41 person did not like.
  • Sylvaonyema Uba Sylvaonyema Uba (1/26/2017 4:00:00 PM)

    Images of beauty and life depicted in this poem. Sylva-Onyema Uba.

  • Geoff Dunstone (7/14/2016 4:38:00 AM)

    a brilliant and enigmatic poet

  • Soul Watcher Soul Watcher (6/22/2016 10:49:00 AM)

    This poet will never come back again

  • Brendan O'Brien (3/12/2016 2:52:00 AM)

    A word is dead when it is said some say
    I say it only starts to live that dayHow wonderfully accurate, and how beautifully stated.

  • Muteesasira Juma Muteesasira Juma (12/26/2015 12:31:00 AM)

    she was really wonderful

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (12/16/2015 5:12:00 AM)

    ''We never know how high we are
    Till we are asked to rise''
    Emily Dickinson (1176)

    beautiful words.. and a great truth..

  • Nirmal Upadhyaya (11/7/2015 11:47:00 AM)

    Emily is one of best poets I adore.

  • Laurie Flynn (8/13/2015 4:41:00 PM)

    To me, Emily Dickinson is one of the most insightful poets, in fact writers, that has even blessed the English language. Her remarkable understanding of emotions and feelings make her pieces timeless and, furthermore, a crutch for those in need of support when they can't quite work out their own. Hopeful yet realistic, beautiful yet dark and even witty, Dickinson is truly a remarkable character and it's reflected in her poetry.

  • Johan Kwisthout (5/18/2015 4:49:00 AM)

    Can anyone here help me to a source for the quote If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves contributed to Dickinson (I need a source in order to ask for permission to quote if it it still under copyright, e.g., if it is in the Johnson and Franklin editions, but I have no access to them)

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

Ah, Teneriffe!


Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages—pause for you—
Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regiment—
Day—drops you her Red Adieu!

Still—Clad in your Mail of ices—

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