Emily Dickinson Poet

Gender: Female
Citizenship: United States
Born: Dec 10, 1830
Died: May 15, 1886

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she spent a short time at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst. Considered an eccentric by the locals, she became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, even leave her room. Most of her friendships were therefore carried out by correspondence.

While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1800 poems were published during her lifetime. The work that was published during her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Dickinson's poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation. Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.

Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality. death

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. poetry

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude! nature

After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs. greatness

Luck is not chance, it's toil fortune's expensive smile is earned. smile

There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry. poetry

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all. hope

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

Find ecstasy in life the mere sense of living is joy enough. life

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

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. poetry

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few. being alone & nature

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn. morning & romance

Beauty is not caused. It is. beauty

The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience. experience

Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it. truth

I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven. hope

Where thou art, that is home. art & home

Tell the truth, but tell it slant. truth

They might not need me but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity. smile

Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought. aging

Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed. success

Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath. death & love

For love is immortality. love

Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate. food

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

Emily Dickinson Poet

St. Patrick's Day March 17, 2025