Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1. September's Baccalaureate 4/21/2015
2. The inundation of the Spring 5/5/2015
3. Escape is such a thankful Word 5/8/2015
4. There comes a warning like a spy 5/11/2015
5. The Duties Of The Wind Are Few 5/11/2015
6. The Spry Arms Of The Wind 5/11/2015
7. The Wind Took Up The Northern Things 5/12/2015
8. How Slow The Wind 5/12/2015
9. A Sickness Of This World It Most Occasions 5/12/2015
10. Lives He In Any Other World 5/12/2015
11. High From The Earth I Heard A Bird 5/21/2015
12. The Earth Has Many Keys 5/29/2015
13. There is no Silence in the Earth 5/29/2015
14. As from the earth the light Balloon 5/29/2015
15. So much of Heaven has gone from Earth 5/29/2015
16. The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants 6/18/2015
17. It stole along so stealthy 6/25/2015
18. When Memory is full 6/11/2015
19. Rearrange a 'Wife's' affection! 9/3/2015
20. The Face we choose to miss 9/11/2015
21. If all the griefs I am to have 11/26/2015
22. Dear March - Come in 12/4/2015
23. The reticent volcano keeps 12/11/2015
24. Exhilaration is the Breeze 1/29/2016
25. The Hills erect their Purple Heads 1/30/2016
26. The Hills in Purple syllables 1/30/2016
27. Volcanoes be in Sicily 12/10/2015
28. These Fevered Days - to take them to the Forest 2/11/2016
29. Too cold is this 2/19/2016
30. Could mortal lip divine 3/30/2016
31. Whether they have forgotten 4/13/2016
32. By homely gift and hindered Words 4/15/2016
33. How Human Nature dotes 4/21/2016
34. A Counterfeit - a Plated Person - 4/7/2016
35. The Clover's simple Fame 4/8/2016
36. Glory is that bright tragic thing 2/29/2016
37. Air has no Residence, no Neighbor 2/10/2016
38. Warm in her Hand these accents lie 2/18/2016
39. My Cocoon Tightens, Colors Tease 10/20/2015
40. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree 11/13/2015
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!

666

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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