11 Most Famous Poem by Emily Dickinson

Poem by Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

11 Most Famous Poems by Emily Dickinson | Enjoy & Share with your Friends

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers - Poem by Emily Dickinson

'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. 

 

 

"Why Do I Love" You, Sir? - Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee— 

 

 

"Faith" Is A Fine Invention - Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency. 

 

 

"Nature" Is What We See - Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity. 

 

 

A Book - Poem by Emily Dickinson

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul! 

 

 

A Bird Came Down - Poem by Emily Dickinson

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw; 
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,- 
They looked like frightened beads, I thought; 
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim. 

 

 

"Heaven"—Is What I Cannot Reach! - Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Heaven"—is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree—
Provided it do hopeless—hang—
That—"He aven" is—to Me!

The Color, on the Cruising Cloud—
The interdicted Land—
Behind the Hill—the House behind—
There—Paradise—is found!

Her teasing Purples—Afternoons—
The credulous—decoy—
Enamored—of the Conjuror—
That spurned us—Yesterday! 

 

 

"Heaven" Has Different Signs&Mdash;To Me - Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Heaven" has different Signs—to me—
Sometimes, I think that Noon
Is but a symbol of the Place—
And when again, at Dawn,

A mighty look runs round the World
And settles in the Hills—
An Awe if it should be like that
Upon the Ignorance steals—

The Orchard, when the Sun is on—
The Triumph of the Birds
When they together Victory make—
Some Carnivals of Clouds—

The Rapture of a finished Day—
Returning to the West—
All these—remind us of the place
That Men call "paradise"—

Itself be fairer—we suppose—
But how Ourself, shall be
Adorned, for a Superior Grace—
Not yet, our eyes can see— 

 

 

Because I Could Not Stop For Death - Poem by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death- 
He kindly stopped for me- 
The Carriage held but just Ourselves- 
And Immortality.

We slowly drove- He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility- 

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess- in the Ring- 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain- 
We passed the Setting Sun- 

Or rather- He passed us- 
The Dews drew quivering and chill- 
For only Gossamer, my Gown- 
My Tippet- only Tulle- 

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground- 
The Roof was scarcely visible- 
The Cornice- in the Ground- 

Since then- 'tis Centuries- and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads 
Were toward Eternity- 

 

 

A Coffin—is A Small Domain - Poem by Emily Dickinson

A Coffin—is a small Domain,
Yet able to contain
A Citizen of Paradise
In it diminished Plane.

A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
Yet ampler than the Sun—
And all the Seas He populates
And Lands He looks upon

To Him who on its small Repose
Bestows a single Friend—
Circumference without Relief—
Or Estimate—or End— 

 

 

A Dying Tiger&Mdash;Moaned For Drink - Poem by Emily Dickinson

A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—

His Mighty Balls—in death were thick—
But searching—I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water—and of me—

'Twas not my blame—who sped too slow—
'Twas not his blame—who died
While I was reaching him—
But 'twas—the fact that He was dead— 

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