Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

241. The Show Is Not The Show, 5/15/2001
242. The White Heat 5/15/2001
243. The Thought Beneath So Slight A Film 5/15/2001
244. Renunciation 1/3/2003
245. The Martyr Poets—did Not Tell 1/1/2004
246. No Matter—now—sweet 1/1/2004
247. There Is An Arid Pleasure 1/13/2003
248. The Snow That Never Drifts 1/8/2015
249. The Zeroes—taught Us—phosphorous 1/1/2004
250. Out Of Sight? What Of That? 1/13/2003
251. We Miss Her, Not Because We See 1/13/2003
252. The Spirit Is The Conscious Ear 1/13/2003
253. The Hollows Round His Eager Eyes 1/13/2003
254. We See&Mdash;Comparatively 1/13/2003
255. I Should Have Been Too Glad, I See 1/13/2003
256. Those Who Have Been In The Grave The Longest 1/13/2003
257. Jesus! Thy Crucifix 1/13/2003
258. Some Such Butterfly Be Seen 1/13/2003
259. I Showed Her Heights She Never Saw 1/13/2003
260. Not Probable—the Barest Chance 1/1/2004
261. Shells From The Coast Mistaking 1/13/2003
262. This&Mdash;Is The Land&Mdash;The Sunset Washes 1/13/2003
263. The Day That I Was Crowned 1/13/2003
264. He Who In Himself Believes 1/13/2003
265. The Lonesome For They Know Not What 1/13/2003
266. A Sloop of Amber slips away 1/9/2016
267. Dying At My Music 12/2/2014
268. No Bobolink—reverse His Singing 1/1/2004
269. If Blame Be My Side—forfeit Me 1/1/2004
270. If He Were Living—dare I Ask 1/1/2004
271. The Dust Behind I Strove To Join 1/13/2003
272. If Pain For Peace Prepares 1/13/2003
273. The First Day That I Was A Life 1/13/2003
274. The Morning After Woe 1/13/2003
275. Good To Hide, And Hear 'Em Hunt! 1/13/2003
276. He Outstripped Time With But A Bout 1/13/2003
277. To Hang Our Head&Mdash;Ostensibly 1/13/2003
278. If She Had Been The Mistletoe 1/13/2003
279. He Put The Belt Around My Life 1/13/2003
280. He Found My Being—set It Up 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

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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