Emily Dickinson

1830–1886 · American

American poet whose compressed, slant-rhyming verse transformed the lyric tradition. She published almost nothing in her lifetime; after her death in 1886, her drawer of nearly 1,800 poems changed the course of American literature forever.

Emily Dickinson

Poems by Emily Dickinson

"Arcturus" is his other name

"Faith" is a fine invention

'Twas a long Parting -- but the time

'Twas later when the summer went

A Wind that rose

A full fed Rose on meals of Tint

A little Madness in the Spring

Absent Place -- an April Day --

Ah, Moon -- and Star!

As if some little Arctic flower

By a flower -- By a letter

Could Hope inspect her Basis

Declaiming Waters none may dread --

Defrauded I a Butterfly --

Floss won't save you from an Abyss

God permits industrious Angels

Great Streets of silence led away

He put the Belt around my life

Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead

How Human Nature dotes

How know it from a Summer's Day?

How much the present moment means

I Years had been from Home

I learned -- at least -- what Home could be --

I lost a World -- the other day!

I never felt at Home -- Below

I noticed People disappeared

I prayed, at first, a little Girl,

I see thee better -- in the Dark --

I tend my flowers for thee

If I could bribe them by a Rose

If Nature smiles -- the Mother must

Immured in Heaven!

Musicians wrestle everywhere

Nature can do no more

No Romance sold unto

Not at Home to Callers

Now I knew I lost her --

One Year ago -- jots what?

Pain has but one Acquaintance

Remorse -- is Memory -- awake --

Snow beneath whose chilly softness

So give me back to Death --

Some, too fragile for winter winds

Summer begins to have the look

Summer laid her simple Hat

Than Heaven more remote,

The Butterfly's Numidian Gown

The Life we have is very great.

The Mountain sat upon the Plain

The Notice that is called the Spring

The Snow that never drifts --

The first Day that I was a Life

The inundation of the Spring

The name -- of it -- is "Autumn" --

The words the happy say

Their Height in Heaven comforts not --

There is a flower that Bees prefer

They shut me up in Prose --

Though the great Waters sleep,

Through the Dark Sod -- as Education

Twice had Summer her fair Verdure

We grow accustomed to the Dark

We should not mind so small a flower

We thirst at first -- 'tis Nature's Act --

Where Thou art -- that -- is Home --

Which is the best -- the Moon or the Crescent?

Witchcraft was hung, in History,

Yesterday is History,

Hope is the thing with feathers

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died

Because I could not stop for Death

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