Emily Dickinson

About Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (1830-1886) was an American poet born in Amherst, Massachusetts. The author of some 1,800 poems, many of which deal with themes of death and immortality, she spent much of her life in almost complete isolation.

“After a Hundred Years”

By |2020-03-28T17:53:47-05:00March 28th, 2020|Categories: Poetry|

After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged, Strangers strolled and spelled At the lone orthography Of the elder dead. Winds of summer fields Recollect the way,— Instinct picking up the key Dropped by memory. The Imaginative Conservative applies the principle of appreciation to the discussion of [...]

“Crumbling is not an instant’s Act”

By |2020-10-05T16:12:06-05:00May 14th, 2017|Categories: Poetry|

Crumbling is not an instant's Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation's processes Are organized Decays — 'Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul A Cuticle of Dust A Borer in the Axis An Elemental Rust — Ruin is formal — Devil's work Consecutive and slow — Fail in an instant, no man did Slipping — is [...]

“Two Ghosts Converse”

By |2020-03-09T00:12:50-05:00October 30th, 2016|Categories: Death, Halloween, Poetry|

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, — Themself are One — We brethren, are," He said— And so, as Kinsmen, met at Night— We [...]

“There Is no Frigate like a Book”

By |2020-05-13T21:55:29-05:00March 20th, 2016|Categories: Books, Poetry|

There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry— This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll— How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human soul Text based on Wikisource. The Imaginative Conservative applies the principle of appreciation to the discussion [...]


By |2020-03-28T17:46:29-05:00August 2nd, 2015|Categories: Poetry|

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. […]

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