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Emily Dickinson
(1830–86)
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Tous les poèmes de Emily Dickinson sur Kalliope, classés par ordre alphabétique de titre.
A
A solemn thing — it was — I said
A Solemn thing within the Soul
A Spider sewed at Night
A still — Volcano Life
At Half past Three, a single Bird
A Thought went up my mind today
A Tongue — to tell Him I am true!
A Word dropped careless on a Page
A word is dead
A Word made Flesh is seldom
B
Because I could not stop for Death
Best Witchcraft is Geometry
C
Could — I do more — for Thee
D
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Don’t put up my Thread and Needle
E
Essential Oils — are wrung
F
Fame of Myself, to justify
Forget! The lady with the Amulet
G
God made a little Gentian
Going to Him! Happy letter!
H
He found my Being — set it up
He fumbles at your Soul
He put the Belt around my life
How many times these low feet staggered
I
I died for Beauty — but was scarce
I dwell in Possibility
I fear a Man of frugal Speech
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
If my Bark sink
If What we could — were what we would
I heard a Fly buzz — when I died
I heard, as if I had no Ear
I live with Him — I see His face
I pay — in Satin Cash
I showed her Heights she never saw
It feels a shame to be Alive
I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl
It was a quiet way —
It was given to me by the Gods
I was the slightest in the House
I would not paint — a picture
J
Just so — Jesus — raps
L
Like eyes that looked on Wastes
M
Much Madness is divinest Sense
My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease —
My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun —
Myself was formed — a Carpenter
N
Nature rarer uses Yellow
Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling
No matter — now — Sweet
Not in this World to see his face
O
One Sister have I in our house
On my volcano grows the Grass
P
Publication — is the Auction
R
Rearrange a "Wife’s" affection!
Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
S
Shall I take thee, the Poet said
She dealt her pretty words like Blades
She rose to His Requirement — dropt
Some — Work for Immortality
Superiority to Fate
T
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant
The Bible is an antique Volume
The Day came slow — till Five o’clock
The Malay — took the Pearl
The Martyr Poets — did not tell
The Missing All — prevented Me
There is a pain — so utter
The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean
The Soul selects her own Society
The Spider as an Artist
The Spider holds a Silver Ball
The Sun went down — no Man looked on —
They shut me up in Prose
This is my letter to the World
This was a Poet — It is That
Tis little I — could care for Pearls
Title divine — is mine!
To love thee Year by Year —
To pile like Thunder to its close
Twas just this time, last year, I died
W
What Soft — Cherubic Creatures
When Etna basks and purrs
Why make it doubt — it hurts it so
