Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1161. Whose Pink career may have a close 7/4/2015
1162. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
1163. Why Do They Shut Me Out of Heaven? 1/13/2003
1164. Why Make It Doubt—it Hurts It So 1/1/2004
1165. Wild Nights! Wild Nights! 12/31/2002
1166. Will There Really Be A "Morning"? 1/13/2003
1167. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree 11/13/2015
1168. Witchcraft Was Hung, In History 3/17/2015
1169. With A Flower 1/2/2015
1170. With Thee, In The Desert 1/13/2003
1171. Within My Garden, Rides A Bird 1/13/2003
1172. Within My Reach! 1/13/2003
1173. Without This—there Is Nought 1/1/2004
1174. Wolfe Demanded During Dying 1/13/2003
1175. Woodpecker, The 12/31/2002
1176. work For Immortality 1/1/2004
1177. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
1178. Yesterday Is History 3/17/2015
1179. You Cannot Put A Fire Out 1/13/2003
1180. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
1181. You Know That Portrait In The Moon 1/13/2003
1182. You left me—Sire—two Legacies 1/13/2003
1183. You Love Me—you Are Sure 1/1/2004
1184. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
1185. You Said That I 1/1/2004
1186. You See I Cannot See—your Lifetime 1/1/2004
1187. You Taught Me Waiting With Myself 1/13/2003
1188. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
1189. You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot 1/1/2004
1190. You'Ll Know It—as You Know 'Tis Noon 1/1/2004
1191. Your Riches—taught Me—poverty 1/1/2004
1192. You'Re Right— 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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