All Poems

/ page 3156 of 3210 /

Order by :

The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea

© Emily Dickinson

The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea --
Forgets her own locality --
As I -- toward Thee --

The Doomed -- regard the Sunrise

© Emily Dickinson

The Doomed -- regard the Sunrise
With different Delight --
Because -- when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it --

The distance that the dead have gone

© Emily Dickinson

The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear --
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year.

The Butterfly's Numidian Gown

© Emily Dickinson

The Butterfly's Numidian Gown
With spots of Burnish roasted on
Is proof against the Sun
Yet prone to shut its spotted Fan
And panting on a Clover lean
As if it were undone --

That Love is all there is,

© Emily Dickinson

That Love is all there is,
Is all we know of Love;
It is enough, the freight should be
Proportioned to the groove.

That is solemn we have ended

© Emily Dickinson

That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday

That I did always love

© Emily Dickinson

That I did always love
I bring thee Proof
That till I loved
I never lived -- Enough --

Summer -- we all have seen --

© Emily Dickinson

Summer -- we all have seen --
A few of us -- believed --
A few -- the more aspiring
Unquestionably loved --

Split the Lark -- and you'll find the Music --

© Emily Dickinson

Split the Lark -- and you'll find the Music --
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled --
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.

Soul, take thy risk.

© Emily Dickinson

Soul, take thy risk.
With Death to be
Were better than be not
With thee

Sometimes with the Heart

© Emily Dickinson

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few -- love at all.

Some things that fly there be

© Emily Dickinson

Some things that fly there be --
Birds -- Hours -- the Bumblebee --
Of these no Elegy.

Soft as the massacre of Suns

© Emily Dickinson

Soft as the massacre of Suns
By Evening's Sabres slain

So proud she was to die

© Emily Dickinson

So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed --

So I pull my Stockings off

So I pull my Stockings off
Wading in the Water
For the Disobedience' Sake
Boy that lived for "or'ter"

So from the mould

So from the mould
Scarlet and Gold
Many a Bulb will rise --
Hidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.

Shells from the Coast mistaking --

Shells from the Coast mistaking --
I cherished them for All --
Happening in After Ages
To entertain a Pearl --

She went as quiet as the Dew

She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!

She laid her docile Crescent down

She laid her docile Crescent down
And this confiding Stone
Still states to Dates that have forgot
The News that she is gone --

She died at play,

She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.