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Emily Dickinson – A Biography of a Recluse and Enigmatic Writer

Emily Dickinson is a very celebrated and well-known American poet of the 19th century. She was born on 10th December 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts. She had written around 1800 poems in her lifetime out of which, during her lifetime, only around 10 were published.

Most of her work gained popularity only after her death.  She would compose poems for her friends and family and write letters to them. A greater number of her poems were kept with herself.

Emily Dickinson was regarded as one of America’s greatest poets. She was well known for her unusual life of self-imposed social seclusion.

Emily Dickinson

Although she lived a life of seclusion, she wrote powerful poetry which questioned transcendent topics like the nature of life, immortality, death and the individual.

Early Life of Emily Dickinson

Emily had two siblings, her being the middle child. She came from a well to do family. Her father was elected in Congress for a term and was also the treasurer of the Amherst College and also helped found the college.

Growing up, Emily was close to her two siblings, brother, Austin, and sister, Lavinia. She was not a very social person, she was quite reclusive and introverted and interacted with only a handful of people throughout her lifetime.

Though Dickinson’s brother married, her sister and Dickinson herself chose to stay unmarried. The two sisters cared for their mother while she was unwell to the day she died in 1882.

She attended Amherst College for seven years and excelled throughout. She then attended Mount Holyoke Female Seminary for a year and then dropped out of school for reasons unknown.

The people that she met during her life had great contributions to her poetry, particularly Reverend Charles Wadsworth, whom she first met on a trip to Philadelphia.

Emily Dickinson

He left for the West Coast shortly after a visit to her home in 1860, and some critics believe his departure gave rise to the heartsick flow of verse from Dickinson in the years that followed.

The nature of their relationship is uncertain, but she regarded him as her ‘closest earthly friend.’ There are other possibilities for the unrequited love that was the subject of many of Dickinson’s poems include Otis P. Lord, a Massachusetts Supreme Court judge, and Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican.


By the 1860s, Dickinson lived in almost complete isolation from the outside world. But she maintained correspondences and read widely. She spent a great deal of this time with her family.

Her father was actively involved in state and national politics, serving in Congress for one term. Dickinson’s younger sister, Lavinia, also lived at home for her entire life in similar isolation.

Work and Career of Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson’s poetry was heavily influenced by the Metaphysical poets of seventeenth-century England, as well as her reading of the Book of Revelation and her upbringing in a Puritan New England town, which encouraged a Calvinist, orthodox, and conservative approach to Christianity.

Poems of Emily Dickinson

She admired the poetry of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett-Browning and John Keats as well. She was discouraged from reading Walt Whitman, who was her contemporary because of the rumours of its disgracefulness.

Although Dickinson was extremely prolific and regarded as a solid intellectual and regularly enclosed poems in letters to friends, she was not publicly recognized during her lifetime.

The first volume of her work was published posthumously in 1890 and the last in 1955. She died in Amherst in 1886.


Upon her death, Dickinson’s family discovered forty handbound volumes of nearly 1,800 poems, or “fascicles” as they are sometimes called. Dickinson assembled these booklets by folding and sewing five or six sheets of stationery paper and copying what seem to be final versions of poems.

An excerpt from ‘Because I could not stop for death’.

The original order of the poems was not restored until 1981, when Ralph W. Franklin used the physical evidence of the paper itself to restore her intended order, relying on smudge marks, needle punctures, and other clues to reassemble the packets.

Since then, many critics have argued that there is a thematic unity in these small collections, rather than their order being simply chronological or convenient. (Belknap Press, 1981) is the only volume that keeps the order intact.

One of her very widely known poems is called ‘”Hope” is the thing with feathers’. The poem was written in the year 1862. This poem is one of the most celebrated pieces of literature by the poet.

The poem has a very positive tone to it. In this poem, the poet uses Metaphor and compares ‘hope’ with a thing with feathers that is a bird. This is further established throughout the poem when in the first stanza of the poem, the poet says that just like the bird holds on or clings its talons to the perches in the same way the human heart holds on and clings to hope to get the power to get through tough times.

In the second stanza of the poem, the poet says that the Nightingale sings sweetly even through a rough storm indicating that the bird has hope that the stormy clouds and darker days will eventually clear out and what will lie ahead it will be light and happiness.

In the last stanza, the poet speaks as though she herself is the bird. Hope gives strength in the toughest and harshest of times but never expects or asks for anything in return.

This poem brings out the support and calmness that hope provides through some challenging times through life and gives us something to look forward to when we are being tested.

Because I could not stop for Death

Her poems like ‘Because I could not stop for Death’, published in 1863, and ‘Success is counted sweetest’, published in 1864,  are also widely popular. In her poem, ‘Because I could not stop for Death’, Dickinson has used the figure of speech of personification, which the poet uses very often in her poems for impact, to portray ‘Death’ and ‘Immortality’ as a people with whom she rides a carriage.

The poem’s tone changes from gentle to harsh as it progresses. The poem also shows the willingness of the poet to ride the carriage with Death.

Success is counted sweetest

In the poem, ‘Success is counted sweetest, talks about the importance of success. In the poem, the poet is trying to say that only those who have tasted failure will be able to realize what the true meaning of success is. In the poem, she gives the example of soldiers in a war.

The soldiers who are on the losing side and are dying can hear the celebration of the soldiers of the winning side and hence can understand what true success means. In this poem, the poet uses the figure of speech as a Metaphor where she compares the nectar and victory.

Emily Dickinson has a very unique way of composing her poems. Her poems create an impact on the reader’s mind and the reader can understand the place she writes from. She uses rhyme schemes in her poems in every second and fourth line of every stanza.

Her poems though not very long, most of her poems only about three to four stanzas long, never fail to impress the readers. She often used many figures of speech in her poems to deliver the message of her poems in a more interesting manner. Like in one of her most well-known poems, ’”Hope” is the thing with feathers, she uses the figure of speech Metaphor in which she compares hope with a bird, and in the last stanza of the poem, she speaks as though she herself is the bird.

Also read more about other poetry of hers – a bird came down the walk

She composed poems on a very wide range of themes and topics. Her writing style cannot be characterized as positive or negative as she composed poems about death, love, hope, etc. showing her versatility as a poet.

She also likes to use punctuations unusually and unconventionally throughout the lines of her poems which sometimes messes with the readers. Her unique and compact way of composing is what causes her poems to have an impact and connect with the readers on such a huge scale.

She had never abided to follow the grammatical rules while writing poems. She made her own identity as a poet by being unique in her writing style. It is the legacy of Dickinson that keeps her work relevant and loved even after so many years of her death.

Complete list of her Poems

A Bee his burnished Carriage
A Bird came down the Walk
A brief but patient illness
A Burdock — clawed my Gown
A Cap of Lead across the sky
A Charm invests a face
A chastened Grace is twice a Grace
A chilly Peace infests the Grass
A Clock stopped
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
A Coffin — is a small Domain
A Counterfeit — a Plated Person
A curious Cloud surprised the Sky
A darting fear — a pomp — a tear
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!
A Death blow is a Life blow to Some
A Deed knocks first at Thought
A Dew sufficed itself
A Diamond on the Hand
A Dimple in the Tomb
A Door just opened on a street
A doubt if it be Us
A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree
A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork
A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink
A face devoid of love or grace
A faded Boy — in sallow Clothes
A feather from the Whippoorwill
A Field of Stubble, lying sere
A first Mute Coming
A Flower will not trouble her, it has so small a Foot,
A full fed Rose on meals of Tint
A fuzzy fellow, without feet
A great Hope fell
A happy lip — breaks sudden
A House upon the Height
A Lady red — amid the Hill
A lane of Yellow led the eye
A Letter is a joy of Earth
A Light exists in Spring
A little bread — a crust — a crumb
A little Dog that wags his tail
A little East of Jordan
A little Madness in the Spring
A little overflowing word
A little Road — not made of Man
A little Snow was here and there
A long — long Sleep — A famous — Sleep
A loss of something ever felt I
A Man may make a Remark
A Mien to move a Queen
A Mine there is no Man would own
A Moth the hue of this
A Murmur in the Trees — to note
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
A nearness to Tremendousness
A Night — there lay the Days between
A not admitting of the wound
A Pang is more conspicuous in Spring
A Pit — but Heaven over it
A Plated Life — diversified
A poor — torn heart — a tattered heart
A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis
A Prison gets to be a friend
A prompt — executive Bird is the Jay
A Rat surrendered here
A Route of Evanescence
A Saucer holds a Cup
A science — so the Savants say
A Secret told
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
A Shade upon the mind there passes
A shady friend — for Torrid days
A Sickness of this World it most occasions
A single Clover Plank
A single Screw of Flesh
A slash of Blue
A Sloop of Amber slips away
A soft Sea washed around the House
A solemn thing — it was — I said
A Solemn thing within the Soul
A something in a summer’s Day
A South Wind — has a pathos
A Sparrow took a Slice of Twig
A Spider sewed at Night
A stagnant pleasure like a Pool
A still — Volcano — Life
A Thought went up my mind today
A throe upon the features
A Toad, can die of Light
A Tongue — to tell Him I am true!
A Tooth upon Our Peace
A train went through a burial gate
A transport one cannot contain
A Visitor in Marl
A Weight with Needles on the pounds
A Wife — at daybreak I shall be
A wild Blue sky abreast of Winds
A Wind that rose
A winged spark doth soar about
A Word dropped careless on a Page
A word is dead
A Word made Flesh is seldom
A World made penniless by that departure
A wounded Deer — leaps highest
Above Oblivion’s Tide there is a Pier
Abraham to kill him
Absence disembodies — so does Death
Absent Place — an April Day
Adrift! A little boat adrift!
Advance is Life’s condition
Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
After a hundred years
After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside
After great pain, a formal feeling comes
After the Sun comes out
Again — his voice is at the door
Ah Teneriffe!
Ah, Moon — and Star!
Ah, Necromancy Sweet!
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor
All but Death, can be Adjusted
All Circumstances are the Frame
All forgot for recollecting
All I may, if small
All men for Honor hardest work
All overgrown by cunning moss
All that I do
All the letters I can write
All these my banners be
All things swept sole away
Alone and in a Circumstance
Alone, I cannot be
Alter! When the Hills do
Although I put away his life
Always Mine!
Ambition cannot find him.
Ample make this Bed
An altered look about the hills
An antiquated Grace
An Antiquated Tree
An awful Tempest mashed the air —
An Everywhere of Silver
An honest Tear
An Hour is a Sea
An ignorance a Sunset
And this of all my Hopes
And with what body do they come?
Angels, in the early morning
Answer July
Apology for Her
Apparently with no surprise
Arcturus is his other name
Are Friends Delight or Pain?
Arrows enamored of his Heart
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Artists wrestled here!
As by the dead we love to sit
As Children bid the Guest Good Night
As far from pity, as complaint
As from the earth the light Balloon
As Frost is best conceived
As if I asked a common Alms
As if some little Arctic flower
As if the Sea should part
As imperceptibly as Grief
As old as Woe
As One does Sickness over
As plan for Noon and plan for Night
As Sleigh Bells seem in summer
As subtle as tomorrow
As Summer into Autumn slips
As the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies
As Watchers hang upon the East
As we pass Houses musing slow
As willing lid o’er weary eye
Ashes denote that Fire was
At Half past Three, a single Bird
At last, to be identified!
At least — to pray — is left — is left
At leisure is the Soul
Aurora is the effort
Autumn — overlooked my Knitting
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine
Away from Home are some and I
Back from the cordial Grave I drag thee
Baffled for just a day or two
Banish Air from Air
Be Mine the Doom
Beauty — be not caused — It Is
Beauty crowds me till I die
Because ’twas Riches I could own
Because He loves Her
Because I could not stop for Death
Because my Brook is fluent
Because that you are going
Because the Bee may blameless hum
Bee! I’m expecting you!
Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles
Before He comes we weigh the Time!
Before I got my eye put out
Before the ice is in the pools
Before you thought of Spring
Behind Me — dips Eternity
Behold this little Bane
Belshazzar had a Letter
Bereaved of all, I went abroad
Bereavement in their death to feel
Besides the Autumn poets sing
Besides this May
Best Gains — must have the Losses’ Test
Best Things dwell out of Sight
Best Witchcraft is Geometry
Betrothed to Righteousness might be
Better — than Music! For I — who heard it
Between My Country — and the Others
Between the form of Life and Life
Bind me — I still can sing
Birthday of but a single pang
Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple
Bless God, he went as soldiers
Bliss is the plaything of the child
Bloom — is Result — to meet a Flower
Bloom upon the Mountain — stated
Blossoms will run away
Bound — a trouble
Bring me the sunset in a cup
Brother of Ingots — Ah Peru
But little Carmine hath her face
But that defeated accent
By a departing light
By a flower — By a letter
By Chivalries as tiny
By homely gift and hindered Words
By my Window have I for Scenery
By such and such an offering
Candor — my tepid friend
Circumference thou Bride of Awe
Civilization — spurns — the Leopard!
Climbing to reach the costly Hearts
Cocoon above! Cocoon below!
Color — Caste — Denomination
Come show thy Durham Breast
Come slowly — Eden!
Conferring with myself
Confirming All who analyze
Conjecturing a Climate
Conscious am I in my Chamber
Consulting summer’s clock
Contained in this short Life
Cosmopolities without a plea
Could — I do more — for Thee
Could Hope inspect her Basis
Could I — then — shut the door
Could I but ride indefinite
Could live — did live
Could mortal lip divine
Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell
Count not that far that can be had
Crisis is a Hair
Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart
Crumbling is not an instant’s Act
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Dear March — Come in
Death is a Dialogue between
Death is like the insect
Death is potential to that Man
Death is the supple Suitor
Death leaves Us homesick, who behind
Death sets a Thing significant
Death warrants are supposed to be
Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Declaiming Waters none may dread
Defrauded I a Butterfly
Delayed till she had ceased to know
Delight — becomes pictorial
Delight is as the flight
Delight’s Despair at setting
Denial — is the only fact
Departed — to the Judgment
Deprived of other Banquet
Despair’s advantage is achieved
Dew — is the Freshet in the Grass
Did life’s penurious length
Did Our Best Moment last
Did the Harebell loose her girdle
Did We abolish Frost
Did we disobey Him?
Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s Mouth
Distance — is not the Realm of Fox
Distrustful of the Gentian
Do People moulder equally
Dominion lasts until obtained
Don’t put up my Thread and Needle
Doom is the House without the Door
Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Down Time’s quaint stream
Drab Habitation of Whom?
Drama’s Vitallest Expression is the Common Day
Dreams — are well — but Waking’s better
Dreams are the subtle Dower
Dropped into the Ether Acre
Drowning is not so pitiful
Dust is the only Secret
Dying at my music!
Dying! Dying in the night!
Dying! To be afraid of thee
Each Life Converges to some Centre
Each Scar I’ll keep for Him
Each Second is the last
Each that we lose takes part of us;
Eden is that old-fashioned House
Elijah’s Wagon knew no thill
Elizabeth told Essex
Elysium is as far as to
Embarrassment of one another
Empty my Heart, of Thee
Endanger it, and the Demand
Ended, ere it begun
Endow the Living — with the Tears
Escape is such a thankful Word
Escaping backward to perceive
Essential Oils — are wrung
Estranged from Beauty — none can be
Except the Heaven had come so near
Except the smaller size
Except to Heaven, she is nought.
Exhilaration — is within
Exhilaration is the Breeze
Expanse cannot be lost
Expectation — is Contentment
Experience is the Angled Road
Experiment escorts us last
Experiment to me
Extol thee — could I? Then I will
Exultation is the going
Facts by our side are never sudden
Fairer through Fading — as the Day
Faith — is the Pierless Bridge
Faith is a fine invention
Faithful to the end Amended
Falsehood of Thee could I suppose
Fame is a bee.
Fame is a fickle food
Fame is the one that does not stay
Fame is the tint that Scholars leave
Fame of Myself, to justify
Fame’s Boys and Girls, who never die
Far from Love the Heavenly Father
Fate slew Him, but He did not drop
Ferocious as a Bee without a wing
Few, yet enough
Finding is the first Act
Finite — to fail, but infinite to Venture
Fitter to see Him, I may be
Flees so the phantom meadow
Floss won’t save you from an Abyss
Flowers — Well — if anybody
Fly – fly – but as you fly
Follow wise Orion
For Death — or rather
For each ecstatic instant
For every Bird a Nest
For largest Woman’s Hearth I knew
For this — accepted Breath
Forbidden Fruit a flavor has
Forever — is composed of Nows
Forever at His side to walk
Forever honored by the Tree
Forget! The lady with the Amulet
Fortitude incarnate
Four Trees — upon a solitary Acre
Frequently the woods are pink –
Frigid and sweet Her parting Face
From all the Jails the Boys and Girls
From Blank to Blank
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
From his slim Palace in the Dust
From Us She wandered now a Year
Funny — to be a Century
Further in Summer than the Birds
Garland for Queens, may be
Gathered into the Earth
Give little Anguish
Given in Marriage unto Thee
Glass was the Street — in tinsel Peril
Glee — The great storm is over
Glory is that bright tragic thing
Glowing is her Bonnet
Go not too near a House of Rose
Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself
Go tell it — What a Message
Go thy great way!
Go travelling with us!
God gave a Loaf to every Bird
God is a distant — stately Lover
God is indeed a jealous God
God made a little Gentian
God made no act without a cause
God permits industrious Angels
Going to Heaven!
Going to Him! Happy letter!
Good Morning — Midnight
Good Night! Which put the Candle out?
Good night, because we must
Good to hide, and hear ’em hunt!
Gratitude — is not the mention
Great Caesar! Condescend
Great Streets of silence led away
Grief is a Mouse
Growth of Man — like Growth of Nature
Guest am I to have
Had I known that the first was the last
Had I not seen the Sun
Had I not This, or This, I said
Had I presumed to hope
Had this one Day not been.
Had we known the Ton she bore
Had we our senses
Have any like Myself
Have you got a Brook in your little heart
He ate and drank the precious Words
He forgot — and I — remembered
He fought like those Who’ve nought to lose
He found my Being — set it up
He fumbles at your Soul
He gave away his Life
He is alive, this morning
He lived the Life of Ambush
He outstripped Time with but a Bout
He parts Himself — like Leaves
He preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow
He put the Belt around my life
He scanned it — staggered
He strained my faith
He told a homely tale
He touched me, so I live to know
He was my host — he was my guest
He was weak, and I was strong — then
He went by sleep that drowsy route
He who in Himself believes
Heart! We will forget him!
Heart, not so heavy as mine
Heaven — is what I cannot reach!
Heaven has different Signs — to me
Heaven is so far of the Mind
Heavenly Father — take to thee
Her — last Poems
Her breast is fit for pearls
Her face was in a bed of hair
Her final Summer was it
Her Grace is all she has
Her little Parasol to lift
Her Losses make our Gains ashamed
Her smile was shaped like other smiles
Her sovereign People
Her spirit rose to such a height
Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead
Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
Herein a Blossom lies
High from the earth I heard a bird
His Bill an Auger is
His Bill is clasped — his Eye forsook
His Cheek is his Biographer
His Feet are shod with Gauze
His Heart was darker than the starless night
His little Hearse like Figure
His Mansion in the Pool
His Mind like Fabrics of the East
His mind of man, a secret makes
His oriental heresies
His voice decrepit was with Joy
Hope is a strange invention
Hope is a subtle Glutton
Hope is the thing with feathers
Houses — so the Wise Men tell me
How brittle are the Piers
How dare the robins sing
How destitute is he
How far is it to Heaven?
How firm Eternity must look
How fits his Umber Coat
How fleet — how indiscreet an one
How fortunate the Grave
How good his Lava Bed
How happy I was if I could forget
How happy is the little Stone
How Human Nature dotes
How know it from a Summer’s Day?
How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights
How many Flowers fail in Wood
How many schemes may die
How many times these low feet staggered
How much of Source escapes with thee
How much the present moment means
How News must feel when travelling
How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand
How ruthless are the gentle
How sick — to wait — in any place — but thine
How slow the Wind
How soft a Caterpillar steps
How soft this Prison is
How still the Bells in Steeples stand
How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
How the Waters closed above Him
How well I knew Her not
I am afraid to own a Body
I am alive — I guess
I am ashamed — I hide
I asked no other thing
I bet with every Wind that blew
I breathed enough to take the Trick
I bring an unaccustomed wine
I Came to buy a smile — today
I can wade Grief
I can’t tell you — but you feel it
I cannot be ashamed
I cannot buy it — ’tis not sold
I cannot dance upon my Toes
I cannot live with You
I cannot meet the Spring unmoved
I cannot see my soul but know ’tis there
I cannot want it more
I cautious, scanned my little life
I could bring You Jewels — had I a mind to
I could die — to know
I could not drink it, Sweet
I could not prove the Years had feet
I could suffice for Him, I knew
I cried at Pity — not at Pain
I cross till I am weary
I did not reach Thee
I died for Beauty — but was scarce
I do not care – why should I care
I dreaded that first Robin, so
I dwell in Possibility
I envy Seas, whereon He rides
I fear a Man of frugal Speech
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain
I felt my life with both my hands
I fit for them
I found the words to every thought
I gained it so
I gave myself to Him
I got so I could take his name
I groped for him before I knew
I had a daily Bliss
I had a guinea golden
I had been hungry, all the Years
I had no Cause to be awake
I had no time to Hate
I had not minded — Walls
I had some things that I called mine
I had the Glory — that will do
I have a Bird in spring
I have a King, who does not speak
I have never seen Volcanoes
I have no Life but this
I haven’t told my garden yet
I heard a Fly buzz — when I died
I heard, as if I had no Ear
I held a Jewel in my fingers
I held it so tight that I lost it
I hide myself within my flower
I keep my pledge.
I knew that I had gained
I know a place where Summer strives
I know lives, I could miss
I know of people in the Grave
I know some lonely Houses off the Road
I know Suspense — it steps so terse
I know that He exists.
I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells
I learned — at least — what Home could be
I like a look of Agony
I like to see it lap the Miles
I live with Him — I see His face
I lived on Dread
I lost a World — the other day!
I made slow Riches but my Gain
I make His Crescent fill or lack
I many times thought Peace had come
I meant to find Her when I came
I meant to have but modest needs
I measure every Grief I meet
I met a King this afternoon!
I never felt at Home — Below
I never hear that one is dead
I never hear the word escape
I never lost as much but twice
I never saw a Moor
I never told the buried gold
I noticed People disappeared
I often passed the village
I pay — in Satin Cash
I play at Riches — to appease
I prayed, at first, a little Girl
I read my sentence — steadily
I reason, Earth is short
I reckon — when I count it all
I robbed the Woods
I rose — because He sank
I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched
I saw that the Flake was on it
I saw the wind within her
I see thee better — in the Dark
I see thee clearer for the Grave
I send Two Sunsets
I send you a decrepit flower
I shall keep singing!
I shall know why — when Time is over
I shall not murmur if at last
I should have been too glad, I see
I should not dare to be so sad
I should not dare to leave my friend
I showed her Heights she never saw
I sing to use the Waiting
I sometimes drop it, for a Quick
I started Early — Took my Dog
I stepped from Plank to Plank
I stole them from a Bee
I sued the News — yet feared — the News
I suppose the time will come
I taste a liquor never brewed
I tend my flowers for thee
I think I was enchanted
I think just how my shape will rise
I think that the Root of the Wind is Water
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
I think the longest Hour of all
I think to Live — may be a Bliss
I thought that nature was enough
I thought the Train would never come
I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl
I took my Power in my Hand
I took one Draught of Life
I tried to think a lonelier Thing
I want — it pleaded — All its life
I was a Phoebe — nothing more
I was the slightest in the House
I watched her face to see which way
I watched the Moon around the House
I went to Heaven
I went to thank Her
I worked for chaff and earning Wheat
I would distil a cup
I would not paint — a picture
I Years had been from Home
I’d rather recollect a setting
I’ll clutch — and clutch
I’ll send the feather from my Hat!
I’ll tell you how the Sun rose
I’m ceded — I’ve stopped being Theirs
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
I’m saying every day
I’m sorry for the Dead — Today
I’m the little Heart’s Ease!
I’m wife — I’ve finished that
I’ve dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb
I’ve got an arrow here.
I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometimes
I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent
I’ve none to tell me to but Thee
I’ve nothing else — to bring, You know
I’ve seen a Dying Eye
Ideals are the Fairly Oil
If all the griefs I am to have
If any sink, assure that this, now standing
If anybody’s friend be dead
If Blame be my side — forfeit Me
If ever the lid gets off my head
If He dissolve — then
If He were living — dare I ask
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
If I could bribe them by a Rose
If I could tell how glad I was
If I may have it, when it’s dead
If I should cease to bring a Rose
If I should die
If I should see a single bird
If I shouldn’t be alive
If I’m lost — now
If it had no pencil
If my Bark sink
If Nature smiles — the Mother must
If pain for peace prepares
If recollecting were forgetting
If she had been the Mistletoe
If the foolish, call them flowers
If this is fading
If those I loved were lost
If What we could — were what we would
If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought
If you were coming in the Fall
If your Nerve, deny you
Image of Light, Adieu
Immortal is an ample word
Immured in Heaven!
Impossibility, like Wine
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
In falling Timbers buried
In lands I never saw — they say
In many and reportless places
In rags mysterious as these
In snow thou comest
In the name of the bee
In this short Life
In thy long Paradise of Light
In Winter in my Room
Inconceivably solemn!
Incredible the Lodging
Is Bliss then, such Abyss
Is Heaven a Physician?
Is Immortality a bane
Is it dead — Find it
Is it too late to touch you, Dear?
Is it true, dear Sue?
It always felt to me — a wrong
It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon
It came at last but prompter Death
It came his turn to beg
It can’t be Summer!
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
It did not surprise me
It don’t sound so terrible — quite — as it did
It dropped so low — in my Regard
It feels a shame to be Alive
It is a lonesome Glee
It is an honorable Thought
It is easy to work when the soul is at play
It is the Meek that Valor wear
It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation —
It knew no Medicine
It makes no difference abroad
It might be lonelier
It rises — passes — on our South
It sifts from Leaden Sieves
It sounded as if the Streets were running
It stole along so stealthy
It struck me — every Day
It tossed — and tossed
It troubled me as once I was
It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
It was a quiet seeming Day
It was a quiet way
It was given to me by the Gods
It was not Death, for I stood up
It was not Saint — it was too large
It was too late for Man
It will be Summer — eventually.
It would have starved a Gnat
It would never be Common — more — I said
It would not know if it were spurned
It’s all I have to bring today
It’s coming — the postponeless Creature
It’s easy to invent a Life
It’s like the Light
It’s such a little thing to weep
It’s thoughts — and just One Heart
Its Hour with itself
Its little Ether Hood
Jesus! thy Crucifix
Joy to have merited the Pain
Judgment is justest
Just as He spoke it from his Hands
Just lost, when I was saved!
Just Once! Oh least Request!
Just so — Jesus — raps
Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you
Knock with tremor
Knows how to forget!
Lad of Athens, faithful be
Lain in Nature — so suffice us
Lay this Laurel on the One
Least Bee that brew
Least Rivers — docile to some sea
Left in immortal Youth
Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today
Lest they should come — is all my fear
Lest this be Heaven indeed
Let down the Bars, Oh Death
Let me not mar that perfect Dream
Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip
Let my first Knowing be of thee
Let others – show this Surry’s Grace
Let Us play Yesterday
Lethe in my flower
Life — is what we make of it
Life is death we’re lengthy at
Life, and Death, and Giants
Lift it — with the Feathers
Light is sufficient to itself
Lightly stepped a yellow star
Like Brooms of Steel
Like eyes that looked on Wastes
Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews
Like her the Saints retire
Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
Like Time’s insidious wrinkle
Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush
Lives he in any other world
Long Years apart — can make no
Longing is like the Seed
Look back on Time, with kindly eyes
Love — is anterior to Life
Love — is that later Thing than Death
Love — thou art high
Love can do all but raise the Dead
Love is done when Love’s begun
Love reckons by itself — alone
Love’s stricken why
Low at my problem bending
Luck is not chance
Make me a picture of the sun
Mama never forgets her birds
Many a phrase has the English language
Many cross the Rhine
March is the Month of Expectation.
Me — come! My dazzled face
Me from Myself — to banish
Me prove it now — Whoever doubt
Me, change! Me, alter!
Meeting by Accident
Midsummer, was it, when They died
Mine — by the Right of the White Election!
Mine Enemy is growing old
More Life — went out — when He went
More than the Grave is closed to me
Morning — is the place for Dew
Morning — means Milking — to the Farmer
Morning is due to all
Morning that comes but once
Morns like these — we parted
Most she touched me by her muteness
Much Madness is divinest Sense
Musicians wrestle everywhere
Must be a Woe
Mute thy Coronation
My best Acquaintances are those
My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease
My country need not change her gown
My Eye is fuller than my vase
My Faith is larger than the Hills
My first well Day — since many ill
My friend attacks my friend!
My friend must be a Bird
My Garden — like the Beach
My God — He sees thee
My Heart ran so to thee
My Heart upon a little Plate
My life closed twice before its close
My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun
My Maker — let me be
My nosegays are for Captives
My period had come for Prayer
My Portion is Defeat — today
My Reward for Being, was This.
My River runs to thee
My Season’s furthest Flower
My Soul — accused me — And I quailed
My Triumph lasted till the Drums
My Wars are laid away in Books
My wheel is in the dark!
My Worthiness is all my Doubt
Myself can read the Telegrams
Myself was formed — a Carpenter
Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling
Nature — the Gentlest Mother is
Nature affects to be sedate
Nature and God — I neither knew
Nature assigns the Sun
Nature can do no more
Nature is what we see
Nature rarer uses Yellow
Never for Society
New feet within my garden go
No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
No Bobolink — reverse His Singing
No Brigadier throughout the Year
No Crowd that has occurred
No ladder needs the bird but skies
No Life can pompless pass away
No Man can compass a Despair
No man saw awe, nor to his house
No matter — now — Sweet
No matter where the Saints abide
No Notice gave She, but a Change
No Other can reduce
No Passenger was known to flee
No Prisoner be
No Rack can torture me
No Romance sold unto
No Rose, yet felt myself a’bloom
Nobody knows this little Rose
None can experience sting
None who saw it ever told it
Noon — is the Hinge of Day
Nor Mountain hinder Me
Not all die early, dying young
Not any higher stands the Grave
Not any more to be lacked
Not any sunny tone
Not at Home to Callers
Not in this World to see his face
Not knowing when the Dawn will come
Not One by Heaven defrauded stay
Not probable — The barest Chance
Not Revelation — ’tis — that waits
Not seeing, still we know
Not Sickness stains the Brave
Not so the infinite Relations — Below
Not that he goes — we love him more
Not that We did, shall be the test
Not to discover weakness is
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken
Now I knew I lost her
Now I lay thee down to Sleep
Obtaining but our own Extent
Of all the Souls that stand create
Of all the Sounds despatched abroad
Of Being is a Bird
Of Bronze — and Blaze
Of Brussels — it was not
Of Consciousness, her awful Mate
Of Course — I prayed
Of Death I try to think like this
Of Glory not a Beam is left
Of God we ask one favor
Of Life to own
Of Nature I shall have enough
Of nearness to her sundered Things
Of Paradise’ existence
Of Paul and Silas it is said
Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe
Of so divine a Loss
Of the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door
Of their peculiar light
Of this is Day composed
Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause?
Of Tribulation, these are They
Of whom so dear
Of Yellow was the outer Sky
Oh Future! thou secreted peace
Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet
Oh Shadow on the Grass
Oh Sumptuous moment
Oh what a Grace is this
Oh, honey of an hour
On a Columnar Self
On my volcano grows the Grass
On such a night, or such a night
On that dear Frame the Years had worn
On that specific Pillow
On the World you colored
On this long storm the Rainbow rose
On this wondrous sea
Once more, my now bewildered Dove
One and One — are One
One Anguish — in a Crowd
One Blessing had I than the rest
One crown that no one seeks
One Crucifixion is recorded — only
One Day is there of the Series
One dignity delays for all
One Joy of so much anguish
One Life of so much Consequence!
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted
One note from One Bird
One of the ones that Midas touched
One Sister have I in our house
One thing of it we borrow
One Year ago — jots what?
Only a Shrine, but Mine
Only God — detect the Sorrow
Opinion is a flitting thing
Our journey had advanced
Our little Kinsmen — after Rain
Our little secrets slink away
Our lives are Swiss
Our own possessions — though our own
Our share of night to bear
Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.
Ourselves were wed one summer — dear
Out of sight? What of that?
Over and over, like a Tune
Over the fence
Pain — expands the Time
Pain — has an Element of Blank
Pain has but one Acquaintance
Papa above!
Paradise is of the option.
Paradise is that old mansion
Partake as doth the Bee
Parting with Thee reluctantly
Pass to they Rendezvous of Light
Patience — has a quiet Outer
Peace is a fiction of our Faith
Perception of an object costs
Perhaps I asked too large
Perhaps they do not go so far
Perhaps you think me stooping
Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower
Peril as a Possession
Pigmy seraphs — gone astray
Pink — small — and punctual
Poor little Heart!
Portraits are to daily faces
Power is a familiar growth
Praise it — ’tis dead
Prayer is the little implement
Precious to Me — She still shall be
Presentiment — is that long Shadow — on the Lawn
Promise This — When You be Dying
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,
Publication — is the Auction
Purple — is fashionable twice
Pursuing you in your transitions
Put up my lute!
Quite empty, quite at rest
Rather arid delight
Read — Sweet — how others — strove
Rearrange a Wife’s affection!
Recollect the Face of me
Red Sea, indeed! Talk not to me
Rehearsal to Ourselves
Remember me implored the Thief!
Remembrance has a Rear and Front
Remorse — is Memory — awake
Removed from Accident of Loss
Renunciation — is a piercing Virtue
Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
Rest at Night
Reverse cannot befall
Revolution is the Pod
Ribbons of the Year
Risk is the Hair that holds the Tun
Robbed by Death — but that was easy
Safe Despair it is that raves
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers
Said Death to Passion
Sang from the Heart, Sire
Satisfaction — is the Agent
Savior! I’ve no one else to tell
Secrets is a daily word
September’s Baccalaureate
Severer Service of myself
Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.
Shall I take thee, the Poet said
Shame is the shawl of Pink
She bore it till the simple veins
She could not live upon the Past
She dealt her pretty words like Blades
She died — this was the way she died.
She died at play
She dwelleth in the Ground
She hideth Her the last
She laid her docile Crescent down
She lay as if at play
She rose as high as His Occasion
She rose to His Requirement — dropt
She sights a Bird — she chuckles
She slept beneath a tree
She sped as Petals of a Rose
She staked her Feathers — Gained an Arc
She sweeps with many-colored Brooms
She went as quiet as the Dew
She’s happy, with a new Content
Shells from the Coast mistaking
Should you but fail at — Sea
Show me Eternity, and I will show you Memory
Sic transit gloria mundi
Silence is all we dread.
Size circumscribes — it has no room
Sleep is supposed to be
Smiling back from Coronation
Snow beneath whose chilly softness
Snow flakes.
So bashful when I spied her!
So from the mould
So gay a Flower
So give me back to Death
So glad we are — a Stranger’d deem
So has a Daisy vanished
So I pull my Stockings off
So large my Will
So much of Heaven has gone from Earth
So much Summer
So proud she was to die
So set its Sun in Thee
So the Eyes accost — and sunder
So well that I can live without
Society for me my misery
Soft as the massacre of Suns
Softened by Time’s consummate plush
Soil of Flint, if steady tilled
Some — Work for Immortality
Some Arrows slay but whom they strike
Some Days retired from the rest
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church
Some one prepared this mighty show
Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!
Some say goodnight — at night
Some such Butterfly be seen
Some things that fly there be
Some we see no more, Tenements of Wonder
Some Wretched creature, savior take
Some, too fragile for winter winds
Somehow myself survived the Night
Sometimes with the Heart
Somewhat, to hope for
Somewhere upon the general Earth
Soto! Explore thyself!
Soul, take thy risk.
Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
South Winds jostle them
Sown in dishonor!
Speech — is a prank of Parliament
Speech is one symptom of Affection
Split the Lark — and you’ll find the Music
Spring comes on the World
Spring is the Period
Spurn the temerity
Step lightly on this narrow spot
Still own thee — still thou art
Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds
Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning
Success is counted sweetest
Such are the inlets of the mind
Such is the Force of Happiness
Summer — we all have seen
Summer begins to have the look
Summer for thee, grant I may be
Summer has two Beginnings
Summer is shorter than any one
Summer laid her simple Hat
Sunset at Night — is natural
Sunset that screens, reveals
Superfluous were the Sun
Superiority to Fate
Surgeons must be very careful
Surprise is like a thrilling — pungent
Suspense — is Hostiler than Death
Sweet — safe — Houses
Sweet — You forgot — but I remembered
Sweet hours have perished here;
Sweet is the swamp with its secrets
Sweet Mountains — Ye tell Me no lie
Sweet Pirate of the heart
Sweet Skepticism of the Heart
Sweet, to have had them lost
Take all away
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy
Take your Heaven further on
Taken from men — this morning
Taking up the fair Ideal
Talk not to me of Summer Trees
Talk with prudence to a Beggar
Teach Him — When He makes the names
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant
Tell as a Marksman — were forgotten
Than Heaven more remote
That after Horror — that ’twas us
That Distance was between Us
That first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet
That I did always love
That is solemn we have ended
That it will never come again
That Love is all there is
That odd old man is dead a year
That sacred Closet when you sweep
That she forgot me was the least
That short — potential stir
That Such have died enable Us
That this should feel the need of Death
The Admirations — and Contempts — of time
The Angle of a Landscape
The Auctioneer of Parting
The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings
The Battle fought between the Soul
The Bee is not afraid of me.
The Beggar at the Door for Fame
The Beggar Lad — dies early
The Bible is an antique Volume
The Bird did prance — the Bee did play
The Bird her punctual music brings
The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb
The Birds begun at Four o’clock
The Birds reported from the South
The Black Berry — wears a Thorn in his side
The Blood is more showy than the Breath
The Blunder is in estimate.
The Bobolink is gone
The Body grows without
The Bone that has no Marrow
The Brain — is wider than the Sky
The Brain, within its Groove
The Bustle in a House
The Butterfly in honored Dust
The butterfly obtains
The Butterfly upon the Sky
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown
The Butterfly’s Numidian Gown
The Chemical conviction
The Child’s faith is new
The Clock strikes one that just struck two
The Clouds their Backs together laid
The Clover’s simple Fame
The Color of a Queen, is this
The Color of the Grave is Green
The competitions of the sky
The Court is far away
The Crickets sang
The Daisy follows soft the Sun
The Dandelion’s pallid tube
The Day came slow — till Five o’clock
The Day grew small, surrounded tight
The Day she goes
The Day that I was crowned
The Day undressed — Herself
The Days that we can spare
The Definition of Beauty is
The Devil — had he fidelity
The difference between Despair
The distance that the dead have gone
The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
The Doomed — regard the Sunrise
The Drop, that wrestles in the Sea
The Dust behind I strove to join
The duties of the Wind are few
The Dying need but little, Dear
The earth has many keys.
The ecstasy to guess
The event was directly behind Him
The face I carry with me — last
The Face in evanescence lain
The Face we choose to miss
The Fact that Earth is Heaven
The fairest Home I ever knew
The farthest Thunder that I heard
The fascinating chill that music leaves
The feet of people walking home
The Fingers of the Light
The first Day that I was a Life
The first Day’s Night had come
The first We knew of Him was Death
The Flake the Wind exasperate
The Flower must not blame the Bee
The Frost of Death was on the Pane
The Frost was never seen
The Future — never spoke
The Gentian has a parched Corolla
The Gentian weaves her fringes
The gleam of an heroic Act
The going from a world we know
The good Will of a Flower
The Grace — Myself — might not obtain
The Grass so little has to do
The grave my little cottage is
The Guest is gold and crimson
The hallowing of Pain
The harm of Years is on him
The healed Heart shows its shallow scar
The Heart asks Pleasure — first
The Heart has many Doors
The Heart has narrow Banks
The Heart is the Capital of the Mind
The Heaven vests for Each
The Hills erect their Purple Heads
The Hills in Purple syllables
The Himmaleh was known to stoop
The Hollows round His eager Eyes
The immortality she gave
The incidents of love
The Infinite a sudden Guest
The inundation of the Spring
The Jay his Castanet has struck
The joy that has no stem no core
The Judge is like the Owl
The Juggler’s Hat her Country is
The Lady feeds Her little Bird
The Lamp burns sure — within
The largest Fire ever known
The Lassitudes of Contemplation
The last Night that She lived
The last of Summer is Delight
The Leaves like Women interchange
The Life that tied too tight escapes
The Life we have is very great.
The Lightning is a yellow Fork
The Lightning playeth — all the while
The Lilac is an ancient shrub
The Loneliness One dare not sound
The lonesome for they know not What
The long sigh of the Frog
The longest day that God appoints
The look of thee, what is it like
The Love a Life can show Below
The lovely flowers embarrass me
The Luxury to apprehend
The Malay — took the Pearl
The Manner of its Death
The Martyr Poets — did not tell
The Merchant of the Picturesque
The Mind lives on the Heart
The Missing All — prevented Me
The mob within the heart
The Months have ends — the Years — a knot
The Moon is distant from the Sea
The Moon upon her fluent Route
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
The Morning after Woe
The morns are meeker than they were
The most important population
The most pathetic thing I do
The most triumphant Bird I ever knew or met
The Mountain sat upon the Plain
The Mountains — grow unnoticed
The Mountains stood in Haze
The Murmur of a Bee
The murmuring of Bees, has ceased
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants
The name — of it — is Autumn
The nearest Dream recedes — unrealized
The Night was wide, and furnished scant
The Notice that is called the Spring
The One who could repeat the Summer day
The ones that disappeared are back
The only Ghost I ever saw
The Only News I know
The Opening and the Close
The Outer — from the Inner
The overtakelessness of those
The parasol is the umbrella’s daughter
The Past is such a curious Creature
The pattern of the sun
The pedigree of Honey
The Pile of Years is not so high
The Poets light but Lamps
The Popular Heart is a Cannon first
The power to be true to You
The pretty Rain from those sweet Eaves
The Products of my Farm are these
The Props assist the House
The Province of the Saved
The pungent atom in the Air
The rainbow never tells me
The Rat is the concisest Tenant.
The Red — Blaze — is the Morning
The reticent volcano keeps
The Riddle we can guess
The right to perish might be thought
The Road to Paradise is plain
The Road was lit with Moon and star
The Robin for the Crumb
The Robin is a Gabriel
The Robin is the One
The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune
The Rose did caper on her cheek
The saddest noise, the sweetest noise
The Savior must have been
The Sea said Come to the Brook
The Service without Hope
The Show is not the Show
The Skies can’t keep their secret!
The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean.
The smouldering embers blush
The Snow that never drifts
The Soul has Bandaged moments
The Soul selects her own Society
The Soul should always stand ajar
The Soul that hath a Guest
The Soul unto itself
The Soul’s distinct connection
The Soul’s Superior instants
The Spider as an Artist
The Spider holds a Silver Ball
The Spirit is the Conscious Ear.
The Spirit lasts — but in what mode
The spry Arms of the Wind
The Stars are old, that stood for me
The stem of a departed Flower
The Stimulus, beyond the Grave
The Suburbs of a Secret
The Summer that we did not prize
The Sun — just touched the Morning
The Sun and Fog contested
The Sun and Moon must make their haste
The Sun in reigning to the West
The Sun is gay or stark
The Sun is one — and on the Tare
The Sun kept setting — setting — still
The Sun kept stooping — stooping — low!
The Sun retired to a cloud
The Sun went down — no Man looked on
The Sunrise runs for Both
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
The sweetest Heresy received
The Sweets of Pillage, can be known
The Symptom of the Gale
The Test of Love — is Death
The Things that never can come back, are several
The things we thought that we should do
The thought beneath so slight a film
The Thrill came slowly like a Boom for
The Tint I cannot take — is best
The Treason of an accent
The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung
The Truth — is stirless
The vastest earthly Day
The Veins of other Flowers
The Voice that stands for Floods to me
The waters chased him as he fled
The way Hope builds his House
The Way I read a Letter’s — this
The Way to know the Bobolink
The Well upon the Brook
The Whole of it came not at once
The Wind — tapped like a tired Man
The Wind begun to knead the Grass
The Wind didn’t come from the Orchard — today
The wind drew off
The Wind took up the Northern Things
The Winters are so short
The words the happy say
The Work of Her that went
The World — feels Dusty
The World — stands — solemner — to me
The worthlessness of Earthly things
The Zeroes — taught us — Phosphorous
Their Barricade against the Sky
Their dappled importunity
Their Height in Heaven comforts not
Themself are all I have
There are two Mays
There are two Ripenings — one — of sight
There came a Day at Summer’s full
There came a Wind like a Bugle
There comes a warning like a spy
There comes an hour when begging stops
There is a finished feeling
There is a flower that Bees prefer
There is a June when Corn is cut
There is a Languor of the Life
There is a morn by men unseen
There is a pain — so utter
There is a Shame of Nobleness
There is a solitude of space
There is a word
There is a Zone whose even Years
There is an arid Pleasure
There is another Loneliness
There is another sky
There is no Frigate like a Book
There is no Silence in the Earth — so silent
There is a strength in proving that it can be borne
There’s a certain Slant of light
There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House
There’s something quieter than sleep
There’s the Battle of Burgoyne
These — saw Visions
These are the days that Reindeer love
These are the days when Birds come back
These are the Nights that Beetles love
These are the Signs to Nature’s Inns
These Fevered Days — to take them to the Forest
These held their Wick above the West
These Strangers, in a foreign World
These tested Our Horizon
They ask but our Delight
They called me to the Window, for
They dropped like Flakes
They have a little Odor — that to me
They have not chosen me, he said
They leave us with the Infinite.
They might not need me — yet they might
They put Us far apart
They say that Time assuages
They shut me up in Prose
They talk as slow as Legends grow
They won’t frown always — some sweet Day
This — is the land — the Sunset washes
This Bauble was preferred of Bees
This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
This Consciousness that is aware
This dirty — little — Heart
This docile one inter
This Dust, and its Feature
This heart that broke so long
This is a Blossom of the Brain
This is my letter to the World
This is the place they hoped before
This Me — that walks and works — must die
This Merit hath the worst
This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies
This slow Day moved along
This that would greet — an hour ago
This was a Poet — It is That
This was in the White of the Year
This World is not Conclusion.
Tho’ I get home how late — how late
Tho’ my destiny be Fustian
Those — dying then
Those cattle smaller than a Bee
Those fair — fictitious People
Those final Creatures, — who they are
Those not live yet
Those who have been in the Grave the longest
Though the great Waters sleep
Three times — we parted — Breath — and I
Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her
Through lane it lay — through bramble
Through the Dark Sod — as Education
Through the strait pass of suffering
Through those old Grounds of memory
Through what transports of Patience
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord
Till Death — is narrow Loving
Time does go on
Time feels so vast that were it not
Time’s wily Chargers will not wait
Tis Anguish grander than Delight
Tis customary as we part
Tis easier to pity those when dead
Tis good — the looking back on Grief
Tis little I — could care for Pearls
Tis my first night beneath the Sun
Tis not that Dying hurts us so
Tis not the swaying frame we miss
Tis One by One — the Father counts
Tis Opposites — entice
Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
Tis so appalling — it exhilarates
Tis so much joy! ‘Tis so much joy!
Tis Sunrise — Little Maid — Hast Thou
Tis true — They shut me in the Cold
Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe
Title divine — is mine!
To be alive — is Power
To be forgot by thee
To break so vast a Heart
To die — takes just a little while
To die — without the Dying
To disappear enhances
To do a magnanimous thing
To earn it by disdaining it
To fight aloud, is very brave
To fill a Gap
To flee from memory
To hang our head — ostensibly
To hear an Oriole sing
To help our Bleaker Parts
To her derided Home
To him who keeps an orchis’ heart
To his simplicity
To interrupt His Yellow Plan
To know just how He suffered — would be dear
To learn the Transport by the Pain
To lose if one can find again
To lose one’s faith — surpass
To lose thee — sweeter than to gain
To love thee Year by Year
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee
To make One’s Toilette — after Death
To make Routine a Stimulus
To mend each tattered Faith
To my quick ear the Leaves — conferred
To my small Hearth His fire came
To offer brave assistance
To One denied the drink
To own a Susan of my own
To own the Art within the Soul
To pile like Thunder to its close
To put this World down, like a Bundle
To see her is a Picture
To see the Summer Sky
To tell the Beauty would decrease
To the bright east she flies
To the stanch Dust
To their apartment deep
To this World she returned.
To try to speak, and miss the way
To undertake is to achieve
To venerate the simple days
To wait an Hour — is long
To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights
Today or this noon
Tomorrow — whose location
Too cold is this
Too few the mornings be
Too happy Time dissolves itself
Too little way the House must lie
Too scanty ’twas to die for you
Touch lightly Nature’s sweet Guitar
Tried always and Condemned by thee
Triumph — may be of several kinds
Trudging to Eden, looking backward
Trust adjust her Peradventure
Trust in the Unexpected
Trusty as the stars
Truth — is as old as God
Twas a long Parting — but the time
Twas awkward, but it fitted me
Twas comfort in her Dying Room
Twas Crisis — All the length had passed
Twas fighting for his Life he was
Twas here my summer paused
Twas just this time, last year, I died.
Twas later when the summer went
Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch
Twas Love — not me
Twas my one Glory
Twas such a little — little boat
Twas the old — road — through pain
Twas warm — at first — like Us
Twice had Summer her fair Verdure
Two — were immortal twice
Two butterflies went out at Noon
Two Lengths has every Day
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Two Travellers perishing in Snow
Twould ease — a Butterfly
Unable are the Loved to die
Uncertain lease — develops lustre
Under the Light, yet under
Undue Significance a starving man attaches
Unfulfilled to Observation
Unit, like Death, for Whom?
Until the Desert knows
Unto a broken heart
Unto like Story — Trouble has enticed me
Unto Me? I do not know you
Unto my Books — so good to turn
Unto the Whole — how add?
Unworthy of her Breast
Up Life’s Hill with my little Bundle
Upon a Lilac Sea
Upon Concluded Lives
Upon his Saddle sprung a Bird
Upon the gallows hung a wretch
Victory comes late
Volcanoes be in Sicily
Wait till the Majesty of Death
Warm in her Hand these accents lie
Was not was all the Statement
Water makes many Beds
Water, is taught by thirst.
We — Bee and I — live by the quaffing
We can but follow to the Sun
We Cover Thee — Sweet Face
We do not know the time we lose
We do not play on Graves
We don’t cry — Tim and I
We dream — it is good we are dreaming
We grow accustomed to the Dark
We introduce ourselves
We knew not that we were to live
We learn it in Retreating
We learned the Whole of Love
We like a Hairbreadth ‘scape
We like March.
We lose — because we win
We met as Sparks — Diverging Flints
We miss a Kinsman more
We miss Her, not because We see
We never know how high we are
We never know we go when we are going
We outgrow love, like other things
We play at Paste
We pray — to Heaven
We see — Comparatively
We send the Wave to find the Wave
We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.
We should not mind so small a flower
We shun because we prize her Face
We shun it ere it comes
We talked as Girls do
We talked with each other about each other
We thirst at first — ’tis Nature’s Act
We wear our sober Dresses when we die
We’ll pass without the parting
Went up a year this evening!
Were it but Me that gained the Height
Were it to be the last
Were natural mortal lady
Wert Thou but ill — that I might show thee
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer
What did They do since I saw Them?
What I can do — I will
What I see not, I better see
What if I say I shall not wait!
What Inn is this
What is — Paradise
What mystery pervades a well!
What shall I do — it whimpers so
What shall I do when the Summer troubles
What Soft — Cherubic Creatures
What tenements of clover
What Twigs We held by
What we see we know somewhat
What would I give to see his face?
Whatever it is — she has tried it
When a Lover is a Beggar
When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins
When Continents expire
When Diamonds are a Legend
When Etna basks and purrs
When I count the seeds
When I have seen the Sun emerge
When I hoped I feared
When I hoped, I recollect
When I was small, a Woman died
When Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side
When Memory is full
When Night is almost done
When One has given up One’s life
When Roses cease to bloom, Sir
When the Astronomer stops seeking
When they come back — if Blossoms do
When we have ceased to care
When we stand on the tops of Things
Where bells no more affright the morn
Where every bird is bold to go
Where I am not afraid to go
Where I have lost, I softer tread
Where Roses would not dare to go
Where Ships of Purple — gently toss
Where Thou art — that — is Home
Whether my bark went down at sea
Whether they have forgotten
Which is best? Heaven
Which is the best — the Moon or the Crescent?
Which misses most
While Asters
While it is alive
While we were fearing it, it came
White as an Indian Pipe
Who abdicated Ambush
Who Court obtain within Himself
Who Giants know, with lesser Men
Who goes to dine must take his Feast
Who has not found the Heaven — below
Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights
Who is the East?
Who never lost, are unprepared
Who never wanted — maddest Joy
Who occupies this House?
Who saw no Sunrise cannot say
Who were the Father and the Son
Whoever disenchants
Whole Gulfs — of Red, and Fleets — of Red
Whose are the little beds, I asked
Whose cheek is this?
Whose Pink career may have a close
Why — do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Why do I love You, Sir?
Why make it doubt — it hurts it so
Why should we hurry — why indeed?
Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
Will there really be a Morning?
Winter is good — his Hoar Delights
Winter under cultivation
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree
Witchcraft was hung, in History
With Pinions of Disdain
With sweetness unabated
With thee, in the Desert
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Within my reach!
Within that little Hive
Within thy Grave!
Without a smile — Without a Throe
Without this — there is nought
Wolfe demanded during dying
Wonder — is not precisely Knowing
Would you like summer? Taste of ours.
Yesterday is History
You cannot make Remembrance grow
You cannot put a Fire out
You cannot take itself
You constituted Time
You know that Portrait in the Moon
You left me — Sire — two Legacies
You love me — you are sure
You love the Lord — you cannot see
You said that I was Great — one Day
You see I cannot see — your lifetime
You taught me Waiting with Myself
You’ll find — it when you try to die
You’ll know Her — by Her Foot
You’ll know it — as you know ’tis Noon
You’re right — the way is narrow
You’ve seen Balloons set — Haven’t You?
Your Riches — taught me — Poverty.
Your thoughts don’t have words every day

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