Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson - one of my favorite poets of all time, and, perhaps, one of my favorite people to quote. Out of severe boredom, I wondered through some of my collected quotes of hers, and thought to share. With so many words of hers, share more, if you like.

"Anger as soon as fed is dead-
'Tis starving makes it fat."

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day."

"They say that God is everywhere, and yet we
Always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse."

"Affection is like bread - unnoticed until we starve of it."

"Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed."

"My friends are my estate."

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all."

"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those we have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things."

"The mere sense of living is joy enough."

"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."

"If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching,
or cool one Pain,
Or help one fainting Robin
into his Nest again,
I shall not live in Vain."

Quote:

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Originally Posted by mono

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all."

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Have to admit that I am not very familliar with Emily Dickinson, apart from the couple poems I read while at university. But I really like this one about hope... :)

i like the last quote

Second Az, the last one's great :nod:, one of my top fave poems
Thanks for sharing mono :)

Here's one of my favorites:

This is my letter to the world
that never wrote to me.
The simple news that Nature told
with tender majesty.

Her message is committed
to hands I cannot see.
For love of her sweet countrymen-
judge tenderly of me!

Another good one I found this morning:

"A word is dead when it is said. Some say. I say it just, begins to live that day."

"There's a certain slant of light ..."

My favourite poem (I must post a poem as what I am quoting is the message and feeling Dickinson portrays, so I am posting the whole poem ;) ) is as follows:

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 a Night—
We talked between the Rooms—
Until the Moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—


I love her inclusion of a religious theme here, and the ending sense of forgotten souls.

I like her poetry but can't find my collection of her poems. There is one that comes to mind, it starts with the line

"I felt a funeral in my brain"

and I think it was my favorite. I also liked one that started with

"Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me"

Hello, Mark F., welcome to the forum. The two poems you mentioned I can also call two of my favorites:

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

-----

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 labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

I often find myself torn on how I feel about Emily Dickinson. I find many of her poems very refreshing and mind opening, but at the same time I find so many that reveal a very lonely person who understood so much that it scared her.

The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,-
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.


Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear. - this is perhaps my favorite, or maybe a close second


If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as bustling go, -
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trade as briskly fly.
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!


Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit, - Life!


I shall know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.

He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now.


I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us-don’t tell
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog! - ok, ok so this one is definitely maybe probably my fave.

In one of her letters to Louise Norcross in January of 1865, Emily said, "Peace is a deep place. Some, too faint to push, are assisted by angels." I hope she finally found that place.

hey!
where do you all find the informations? is there a site where it tells why she wrote her poems?
like, what made her write the poem: because i could not stop for death .. what was the reason for that one?
or is there a site where other famous writer say something about this poem?

i would need information like that for my research paper ..

or maybe a site where about the symbols used in this poem ..

please let me know, i would really appreciate it!!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by nope

hey!
where do you all find the informations? is there a site where it tells why she wrote her poems?
like, what made her write the poem: because i could not stop for death .. what was the reason for that one?
or is there a site where other famous writer say something about this poem?

i would need information like that for my research paper ..

or maybe a site where about the symbols used in this poem ..

please let me know, i would really appreciate it!!

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Hello, nope, and welcome to the forum.
If you read this post before signing in, check your private messages. I replied. :)

I love Emily's poems. There is one I will post soon, when I have time. I don't think she was that lonely, she had so much more than most people in the realms of thought. Sure, she knew alot, but I doubt knowledge overwhelmed her, or even emotion did. She was a poet, after all!

Hey...can anyone give me an analysis on this poem cuz im currently doing an essay on this plz rly urgent and desperate

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human naturefeels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.