Emily Dickinson Quotes

I dwell in possibility...












One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.


A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.

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 into his Nest again, I shall not live in Vain.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the words without the tune, and never stops at all.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul. And sings the tune Without the words, and never stops at all.

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those we have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things.




Write your comment about Emily Dickinson


Vedanta j. Schirmer, poet: I truly love emily dickinson's poems. She is like me.
'I'm just an unknown poet And no-one ever knows me.'
Vedanta j. Schirmer, the unknown poet
Sahil : She is the nightingale of USA
Sahil : She is the nightingale of USA
Sahil : Emily Dickinson is one of my favourite poets
Mrs. De-kroon: hey Grace i really like your language features in your poem so far, however you do need to add more comers, and full stops please!! I know its hard, but thats what you need to add to get a higher mark. Keep up the brilliant work Grace you can do this!!! ;)
Shyra mae regio: Maganda ang story
Shyra mae regio: Maganda ang story
mikey: hey emily, what does the number mean
Michael: S do I'll try to io


Poem of the day

Ernest Dowson Poem
The Garden Of Shadow
 by Ernest Dowson

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
...

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