The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson

L'espoir porte un costume de plumes, se perche dans l'âme
et inlassablement chante un air sans paroles ;
mais c'est dans la tempête que son chant est le plus doux.

Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!

Dans un cœur brisé
Nul ne peut pénétrer
Sans la noble prérogative
D'avoir souffert de même.

"This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me,
The simple News that Nature told
With tender majesty"

Had we our senses

Had we our senses
But perhaps 'tis well they're not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He's liable with them

Had we the eyes without our Head—
How well that we are Blind—
We could not look upon the Earth—
So utterly unmoved—

I'm Nobody! Who are you?

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you -- Nobody -- Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise -- you know!

How dreary -- to be -- Somebody!
How public -- like a Frog --
To tell one's name -- the livelong June --
To an admiring Bog!

Pour être hanté,
nul besoin de chambre,
nul besoin de maison,
le cerveau regorge
de corridors plus tortueux
les uns que les autres.

Mr.Higginson,

Are you too deeply occupied to say if my verse is alive? The mind is so near itself - it cannot tell, distinctly - and I have none to ask.

Because I could not stop for Death

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 labor and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the School, where Children strove
At recess in the ring
We passed the fields of gazing grain
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us
The dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my gown
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the GROUND
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice in the ground.

Since then 'tis centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the DAY
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

There is another sky

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!