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Home arrow Poetry arrow Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson
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Item Title
'T was just this time last year I died.
A Bird Came Down
A Clock Stopped -- Not The Mantel's
A door just opened on a street
A drop fell on the apple tree
A light exists in spring
A little road not made man
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
A narrow fellow in the grass
A shady friend for torrid days
A thought went up my mind to-day
After a hundred years
After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes
Ample make this bed.
An everywhere of silver,
Because I could not stop for Death,
Before you thought of spring,
Death sets a thing of signigicant
Delight becomes pictorial
Departed to the judgment,
Each life converges to some centre
Elysium is as far as to
First Robin
For each ecstatic instant
God gave a loaf to every bird,
 
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