Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)

Poet

Various editions of Emily Dickinson's poetry exist. There is a great diversity of typography, and some of titles and arrangements. These initial fragments are presented without title, but generally used titles and probable dates will gradually be provided.

• If I can stop one heart from breaking,
  I shall not live in vain;
  If I can ease one life the aching,
  Or cool one pain,
  Or help one fainting robin
  Unto his nest again,
  I shall not live in vain.

• 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.

• The soul selects her own society,
  Then shuts the door;
  On her divine majority
  Obtrude no more.

• This is my letter to the World
  That never wrote to Me—
  The simple News that Nature told—
  With tender Majesty
  
  Her Message is committed
  To Hands I cannot see—
  For love of Her—Sweet-countrymen-
  Judge tenderly—of Me

• The pedigree of honey
  Does not concern the bee;
  A clover, any time, to him
  Is aristocracy.

• I died for beauty, but was scarce
  Adjusted in the tomb,
  When one who died for truth was lain
  In an adjoining room.
  
  He questioned softly why I failed?
  "For beauty," I replied.
  "And I for truth, —the two are one;
  We brethren are," he said.
  
  And so, as kinsmen met a night,
  We talked between the rooms,
  Until the moss had reached our lips,
  And covered up our names.

• Success is counted sweetest
  By those who ne'er succeed.
  To comprehend a nectar
  Requires a sorest need.
  
  Not one of all the purple Host
  Who took the Flag today
  Can tell the definition
  So clear of Victory
  
  As he defeated—dying—
  On whose forbidden ear
  The distant strains of triumph
  Burst agonized and clear!

• I never saw a moor,
  I never saw the sea;
  Yet know I how the heather looks,
  And what a wave must be.
  
  I never spoke with God,
  Nor visited in heaven;
  Yet certain am I of the spot
  As if the chart were given.

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

• I'm Nobody! Who are you?
  Are you—Nobody—too?
  Then there's a pair of us!
  Dont tell! they'd banish us—you know!
  
  How dreary—to be—Somebody!
  How public—like a Frog—
  To tell your name—the livelong June—
  To an admiring Bog!
  • In some editions, "June" is "day"

• Because I could not stop for Death—
  He kindly stopped for me—
  The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
  And Immortality…
  
  Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
  Feels shorter than the Day
  I first surmised the Horses Heads
  Were toward Eternity—

• Not with a club the heart is broken
  Nor with a stone;
  A whip so small you could not see it
  I've known
  To lash the magic creature
  Till it fell,
  Yet that whip's name
  Too noble then to tell.
  Magnanimous as bird
  By boy descried,
  Singing unto the stone
  Of which it died;
  Shame need not crouch
  In such an earth as ours
  Stand—stand erect;
  The universe is yours.

• Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
  Success in Circuit lies
  Too bright for our infirm Delight
  The Truth's superb surprise
  As Lightning to the Children eased
  With explanation kind
  The Truth must dazzle gradually
  Or everyman be blind—
  

• Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
  I keep it staying at home,
  With a bobolink for a chorister,
  And an orchard for a dome.
  
  Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
  I just wear my wings,
  And instead of tolling the bell for church,
  Our little sexton sings.
  
  God preaches,—a noted clergyman,—
  And the sermon is never long;
  So instead of getting to heaven at last,
  I’m going all along!
  • Complete Poems #57

• My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.