Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
362. I Died For Beauty 1/3/2003
363. I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce 5/15/2001
364. I Dreaded That First Robin, So 1/13/2003
365. I Dwell In Possibility 1/13/2003
366. I Envy Seas, Whereon He Rides 1/13/2003
367. I Fear A Man Of Frugal Speech 1/13/2003
368. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
369. I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain (280) 1/20/2003
370. I Felt My Life With Both My Hands 1/13/2003
371. I Found The Phrase To Every Thought 5/15/2001
372. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
373. I Gave Myself To Him 1/13/2003
374. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
375. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
376. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
377. I Had No Cause To Be Awake 1/13/2003
378. I Had No Time To Hate, Because 5/15/2001
379. I Had Not Minded—walls 1/1/2004
380. I Had Some Things That I Called Mine 1/13/2003
381. I Had The Glory—that Will Do 1/1/2004
382. I Have A Bird In Spring 1/13/2003
383. I Have A King, Who Does Not Speak 1/13/2003
384. I Have Never Seen 1/1/2004
385. I Have Never Seen "Volcanoes" 1/13/2003
386. I Have No Life But This 11/22/2014
387. I Haven'T Told My Garden Yet 1/13/2003
388. I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died; 5/15/2001
389. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers 1/13/2003
390. I Hide Myself Within My Flower 1/13/2003
391. I Keep My Pledge 1/13/2003
392. I Know A Place Where Summer Strives 5/15/2001
393. I Know Lives, I Could Miss 1/13/2003
394. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
395. I Know That He Exists 1/13/2003
396. I Know Where Wells Grow—droughtless Wells 1/1/2004
397. I Learned—at Least—what Home Could Be 1/1/2004
398. I Like A Look Of Agony 1/13/2003
399. I Like To See It Lap The Miles, 5/15/2001
400. I Live With Him—i See His Face 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

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—

[Hata Bildir]