Emily Dickinson Poems

Emily Dickinson Poems

51A First Mute Coming
52A Fuzzy Fellow, Without Feet
53A Great Hope Fell
54A Happy Lip&Mdash;Breaks Sudden
55A House Upon The Height
56A Lady Red&Mdash;Amid The Hill
57A lane of Yellow led the eye
58A Light Exists In Spring
59A Little Bread&Mdash;A Crust&Mdash;A Crumb
60A Little Dog That Wags His Tail
61A Little East Of Jordan
62A little Madness in the Spring
63A Little Road Not Made Man
64A Little Snow Was Here And There
65A Long, Long Sleep, A Famous Sleep
66A Loss Of Something Ever Felt I
67A Man May Make A Remark
68A Mien To Move A Queen
69A Moth The Hue Of This
70A Murmur In The Trees&Mdash;To Note
71A Narrow Fellow In The Grass
72A Nearness To Tremendousness
73A Night&Mdash;There Lay The Days Between
74A Pang is more conspicuous in Spring
75A Planted Life&Mdash;Diversified
76A Poor&Mdash;Torn Heart&Mdash;A Tattered Heart
77A Precious—mouldering Pleasure
78A Prison Gets To Be A Friend
79A Route Of Evanescence
80A Science&Mdash;So The Savants Say
81A Secret Told
82A Sepal, Petal, And A Thorn
83A Shade Upon The Mind There Passes
84A Shady Friend For Torrid Days
85A Sickness Of This World It Most Occasions
86A Single Screw Of Flesh
87A Slash Of Blue
88A Sloop of Amber slips away
89A Solemn Thing Within The Soul
90A Solemn Thing&Mdash;It Was&Mdash;I Said
91A Something In A Summer's Day
92A South Wind&Mdash;Has A Pathos
93A Spider sewed at Night
94A Still—volcano—life
95A Thought Went Up My Mind To-Day
96A Throe Upon The Features
97A Toad Can Die Of Light!
98A Tongue—to Tell Him I Am True!
99A Tooth Upon Our Peace
100A Transport One Cannot Contain

Best Poem of Emily Dickinson

I Was The Slightest In The House

I was the slightest in the House—
I took the smallest Room—
At night, my little Lamp, and Book—
And one Geranium—

So stationed I could catch the Mint
That never ceased to fall—
And just my Basket—
Let me think—I'm sure—
That this was . . .
Read the full of I Was The Slightest In The House
Summer For Thee, Grant I May Be

Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole—are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me—
Thy flower—forevermore! . . .
Read the full of Summer For Thee, Grant I May Be