Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. I Bet With Every Wind That Blew 5/12/2015
362. I Breathed Enough To Learn The Trick, 5/14/2001
363. I Bring An Unaccustomed Wine 1/13/2003
364. I Came To Buy A Smile—today 1/1/2004
365. I Can Wade Grief 1/13/2003
366. I Cannot Be Ashamed 1/13/2003
367. I Cannot Buy It—'Tis Not Sold 1/1/2004
368. I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes 1/13/2003
369. I Cannot Live With You (No. 640) 1/20/2003
370. I Can'T Tell You—but You Feel It 1/1/2004
371. I Cautious, Scanned My Little Life 1/13/2003
372. I Could Bring You Jewels—had I A Mind To 1/1/2004
373. I Could Die—to Know 1/1/2004
374. I Could Not Drink It, Sweet 1/13/2003
375. I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet 1/13/2003
376. I Could Suffice For Him, I Knew 1/13/2003
377. I Cried At Pity—not At Pain 1/1/2004
378. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
379. I Died For Beauty 1/3/2003
380. I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce 5/15/2001
381. I Dreaded That First Robin, So 1/13/2003
382. I Dwell In Possibility 1/13/2003
383. I Envy Seas, Whereon He Rides 1/13/2003
384. I Fear A Man Of Frugal Speech 1/13/2003
385. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
386. I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain (280) 1/20/2003
387. I Felt My Life With Both My Hands 1/13/2003
388. I Found The Phrase To Every Thought 5/15/2001
389. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
390. I Gave Myself To Him 1/13/2003
391. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
392. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
393. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
394. I Had No Cause To Be Awake 1/13/2003
395. I Had No Time To Hate, Because 5/15/2001
396. I Had Not Minded—walls 1/1/2004
397. I Had Some Things That I Called Mine 1/13/2003
398. I Had The Glory—that Will Do 1/1/2004
399. I Have A Bird In Spring 1/13/2003
400. I Have A King, Who Does Not Speak 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


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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