• POET'S PAGE
• BIOGRAPHY
• POEMS

Emily Dickinson

• The Earth Has Many Keys
• The Face I Carry With Me—last -
• The Face we choose to miss
• 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 Flower Must Not Blame The Bee
• The Future—never Spoke -
• The Gentian Weaves Her Fringes
• The Going From A World We Know
• The Good Will Of A Flower
• The Grace—myself—might Not Obtain - P
• The Grass So Little Has To Do
• The grave my little cottage is
• The Guest Is Gold And Crimson
• The Hallowing Of Pain
• The Heart Asks Pleasure First
• The Heart Has Narrow Banks
• 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 inundation of the Spring
• 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 Last Night That She Lived
• The Leaves Like Women Interchange
• The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound
• The Lonesome For They Know Not What
• The Love A Life Can Show Below
• The Luxury To Apprehend
• The Malay—took The Pearl -
• The Manner Of Its Death
• The Martyr Poets—did Not Tell -
• The Missing All—prevented Me -
• The Months Have Ends—the Years—a Knot - P
• The Moon Was But A Chin Of Gold
• The Morning After Woe
• The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were
• The Mountain Sat Upon The Plain
• The Mountains—grow Unnoticed -
• The Murmur Of A Bee
• The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants
• The Mystery Of Pain
• The Name—of It—is 'Autumn' - P
• The Nearest Dream Recedes, Unrealized.