'TWAS comfort in her dying room

'TWAS comfort in her dying room
To hear the living clock,
A short relief to have the wind
Walk boldly up and knock,
Diversion from the dying theme
To hear the children play,
But wrong, the mere
That these could live,–
And This of ours must die!

More poems by Emily Dickinson

I know a place where summer strives

I know a place where summer strives / With such a practised frost,

Emily Dickinson

THE ORIOLE - One of the ones that Midas touched

One of the ones that Midas touched, / Who failed to touch us all,

Emily Dickinson

Could I but ride indefinite

Could I but ride indefinite, / As doth the meadow-bee,

Emily Dickinson

THE COMING OF NIGHT - How the old mountains drip with sunset

How the old mountains drip with sunset, / And the brake of dun!

Emily Dickinson

All poems by Emily Dickinson →