Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
I Ment To Find Her When I Came; Poem by Emily Dickinson
I meant to find her when I came;Death had the same design;But the success was his, it seems,And the discomfit mine.I meant to tell her how I..
© Emily Dickinson
Whose Are The Little Beds, I Asked
142Whose are the little beds, I askedWhich in the valleys lie?Some shook their heads, and others smiled—And no one made reply.Perhaps they did not..
© Emily Dickinson
She Slept Beneath A Tree
25She slept beneath a tree—Remembered but by me.I touched her Cradle mute—She recognized the foot—Put on her carmine suitAnd see!
© Emily Dickinson
I Think Just How My Shape Will Rise
237I think just how my shape will rise—When I shall be "forgiven"—Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head—Are out of sight—in Heaven—I think just how my..
© Emily Dickinson
I Rose—because He Sank
616I rose—because He sank—I thought it would be opposite—But when his power dropped—My Soul grew straight.I cheered my fainting Prince—I sang..
© Emily Dickinson
How The Waters Closed Above Him
923How the Waters closed above HimWe shall never know—How He stretched His Anguish to usThat—is covered too—Spreads the Pond Her Base of LiliesBold..
© Emily Dickinson
My Portion Is Defeat—today
639My Portion is Defeat—today—A paler luck than Victory—Less Paeans—fewer Bells—The Drums don't follow Me—with tunes—Defeat—a somewhat..
© Emily Dickinson
Poor Little Heart!
192Poor little Heart!Did they forget thee?Then dinna care! Then dinna care!Proud little Heart!Did they forsake thee?Be debonnaire! Be..
© Emily Dickinson
I Prayed, At First, A Little Girl
576I prayed, at first, a little Girl,Because they told me to—But stopped, when qualified to guessHow prayer would feel—to me—If I believed God looked..
© Emily Dickinson
The Feet Of People Walking Home
7The feet of people walking homeWith gayer sandals go—The Crocus— til she risesThe Vassal of the snow—The lips at HallelujahLong years of practise..
© Emily Dickinson
I Got So I Could Take His Name
293I got so I could take his name—Without—Tremendous gain—That Stop-sensation—on my Soul—And Thunder—in the Room—I got so I could walk acrossThat..
© Emily Dickinson
I Cried At Pity—not At Pain
588I cried at Pity—not at Pain—I heard a Woman say"Poor Child"—and something in her voiceConvicted me—of me—So long I fainted, to myselfIt seemed the..
© Emily Dickinson
Like Brooms of Steel
Like Brooms of SteelThe Snow and WindHad swept the Winter Street -The House was hookedThe Sun sent outFaint Deputies of Heat -Where rode the BirdThe..
© Emily Dickinson
The Way I Read A Letter's—this
636The Way I read a Letter's—this—'Tis first—I lock the Door—And push it with my fingers—next—For transport it be sure—And then I go the furthest..
© Emily Dickinson
I Meant To Have But Modest Needs
476I meant to have but modest needs—Such as Content—and Heaven—Within my income—these could lieAnd Life and I—keep even—But since the last—included..
© Emily Dickinson
I Never Felt At Home—below
413I never felt at Home—Below—-And in the Handsome SkiesI shall not feel at Home—I know—I don't like Paradise—Because it's Sunday—all the time—And..
© Emily Dickinson
He Was Weak, And I Was Strong—then
190He was weak, and I was strong—then—So He let me lead him in—I was weak, and He was strong then—So I let him lead me—Home.'Twasn't far—the door was..
© Emily Dickinson
I Bring An Unaccustomed Wine
132I bring an unaccustomed wineTo lips long parchingNext to mine,And summon them to drink;Crackling with fever, they Essay,I turn my brimming eyes..
© Emily Dickinson
'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So
335'Tis not that Dying hurts us so—'Tis Living—hurts us more—But Dying—is a different way—A Kind behind the Door—The Southern Custom—of the Bird—That..
© Emily Dickinson
Her&Mdash;"Last Poems"
312Her—"last Poems"—Poets—ended—Silver—perished—with her Tongue—Not on Record—bubbled other,Flute—or Woman—So divine—Not unto its..
© Emily Dickinson
I Never Hear The Word 'Escape'
I never hear the word 'escape'Without a quicker blood,A sudden expectation,A flying attitude.I never hear of prisons broadBy soldiers battered..
© Emily Dickinson
The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man
The wind tapped like a tired man,And like a host, 'Come in,'I boldly answered; entered thenMy residence withinA rapid, footless guest,To offer whom a..
© Emily Dickinson
Her&Mdash;"Last Poems"
312Her—"last Poems"—Poets—ended—Silver—perished—with her Tongue—Not on Record—bubbled other,Flute—or Woman—So divine—Not unto its..
© Emily Dickinson
I Never Hear The Word 'Escape'
I never hear the word 'escape'Without a quicker blood,A sudden expectation,A flying attitude.I never hear of prisons broadBy soldiers battered..
© Emily Dickinson
The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man
The wind tapped like a tired man,And like a host, 'Come in,'I boldly answered; entered thenMy residence withinA rapid, footless guest,To offer whom a..
© Emily Dickinson