Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

41. A Mien To Move A Queen 1/13/2003
42. A Moth The Hue Of This 1/13/2003
43. A Murmur In The Trees&Mdash;To Note 1/13/2003
44. A Narrow Fellow In The Grass 5/14/2001
45. A Nearness To Tremendousness 1/13/2003
46. A Night&Mdash;There Lay The Days Between 1/13/2003
47. A Pang is more conspicuous in Spring 5/5/2015
48. A Planted Life&Mdash;Diversified 1/13/2003
49. A Poor&Mdash;Torn Heart&Mdash;A Tattered Heart 1/13/2003
50. A Precious—mouldering Pleasure 1/1/2004
51. A Prison Gets To Be A Friend 1/13/2003
52. A Route Of Evanescence 1/3/2003
53. A Science&Mdash;So The Savants Say 1/13/2003
54. A Secret Told 1/13/2003
55. A Sepal, Petal, And A Thorn 1/13/2003
56. A Shade Upon The Mind There Passes 1/13/2003
57. A Shady Friend For Torrid Days 5/14/2001
58. A Sickness Of This World It Most Occasions 5/12/2015
59. A Single Screw Of Flesh 1/13/2003
60. A Slash Of Blue 1/13/2003
61. A Solemn Thing Within The Soul 1/13/2003
62. A Solemn Thing&Mdash;It Was&Mdash;I Said 1/13/2003
63. A Something In A Summer's Day 1/13/2003
64. A South Wind&Mdash;Has A Pathos 1/13/2003
65. A Still—volcano—life 1/1/2004
66. A Thought Went Up My Mind To-Day 5/14/2001
67. A Throe Upon The Features 1/13/2003
68. A Toad Can Die Of Light! 1/1/2004
69. A Tongue—to Tell Him I Am True! 1/1/2004
70. A Tooth Upon Our Peace 1/13/2003
71. A Transport One Cannot Contain 1/13/2003
72. A Visitor In Marl 1/13/2003
73. A Weight With Needles On The Pounds 1/13/2003
74. A Wife&Mdash;At Daybreak I Shall Be 1/13/2003
75. A Wind That Rose 5/11/2015
76. A Wounded Deer&Mdash;Leaps Highest 1/13/2003
77. Abraham To Kill Him 1/3/2003
78. Absence Disembodies—so Does Death 1/1/2004
79. Absent Place&Mdash;An April Day 1/13/2003
80. Adrift! A Little Boat Adrift! 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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