emily dickinson poems

Poems

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

Because I could not stop for Death

Success is counted sweetest

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!

A Bird came down the Walk

I taste a liquor never brewed

I like to see it lap the Miles

There is a pain — so utter —

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass