Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

321. Not 1/1/2004
322. He Gave Away His Life 1/13/2003
323. Patience—has A Quiet Outer 1/1/2004
324. My Soul—accused Me—and I Quailed 1/1/2004
325. More Life—went Out—when He Went 1/1/2004
326. Most She Touched Me By Her Muteness 1/13/2003
327. Prayer Is The Little Implement 1/13/2003
328. Size Circumscribes—it Has No Room 1/1/2004
329. Gratitude—is Not The Mention 1/1/2004
330. My Reward For Being, Was This 1/13/2003
331. The Province Of The Saved 1/13/2003
332. The Birds Reported From The South 1/13/2003
333. When The Astronomer Stops Seeking 1/13/2003
334. The Juggler's Hat Her Country Is 1/13/2003
335. Least Bee That Brew 1/13/2003
336. The Black Berry—wears A Thorn In His Side 1/1/2004
337. Through Lane It Lay—through Bramble 1/1/2004
338. Me, Change! Me, Alter! 1/13/2003
339. We Play At Paste, 12/31/2002
340. No Crowd That Has Occurred 1/13/2003
341. How Noteless Men, And Pleiads, Stand 1/13/2003
342. When One Has Given Up One's Life 1/13/2003
343. We Talked As Girls Do 1/13/2003
344. Many Cross The Rhine 1/13/2003
345. There Is A Languor Of The Life 1/13/2003
346. I Could Not Drink It, Sweet 1/13/2003
347. The World—stands—solemner—to Me 1/1/2004
348. One Blessing Had I Than The Rest 1/13/2003
349. Who Occupies This House? 1/13/2003
350. No Romance Sold Unto 1/13/2003
351. The Veins Of Other Flowers 1/13/2003
352. So Proud She Was To Die 5/15/2001
353. No Matter—now—sweet 1/1/2004
354. The Day Undressed&Mdash;Herself 1/13/2003
355. Over And Over, Like A Tune 1/13/2003
356. The Outer—from The Inner 1/1/2004
357. The Sun Is Gay Or Stark 1/13/2003
358. He Strained My Faith 1/13/2003
359. The Sunrise Runs For Both 1/13/2003
360. Read—sweet—how Others—strove 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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