Emily+Dickinson

= = = = = Emily Dickinson =

Died: May 15, 1886
= Article written by Jackie Magaha =

( Left: Emily Dickinson)

**Biography:**


Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was born at her family's homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts. She was the daughter of Edward and Emily Norcross Dickinson. Emily was the middle child of three. She had one brother and one sister(William, who was the eldest, and Lavinia, the youngest). The Dickinson family was very successful and well educated. When Emily was younger, she attended school at Amherst Academy. She also went to South Hadley Female Seminary school, and returned home after one year of studying. Later Emily went to Mount Holyoke School. Neither, Emily or Lavinia ever married.

( Above: Dickinson Homestead)

As most writers do, Emily spent a majority part of her life writing. As she began to write numerous pieces, Emily began placing poems and letters she had written into manuscript books. She created 40 of these books and they held approximately 800 poems. No one knew of these books until after her death.

In Emily's later years, she continued writing but stopped editing her papers. These years were more depressing than those before. Many of her family members died continuously. Once she would overcome one's death, another would happen. In 1885 she fainted in the kitchen while baking. She remained unconscious and was very ill for time following. Emily remained in her bed during the spring time of 1866, and continued to grow weaker. Her last letter was to her cousins saying "Little Cousins, Called Back. Emily." On May 15th, 1886, Emily Dickinson died. Emily's doctor said it was the cause of Bright's Disease, which she had been dealing with for 2 and a half years. Her death was very saddening for her loved family members. Emily is buried in her family plot at West Cemetery. She lived to the age of 55.

**__Hope is the Thing with Feathers__**
"Hope" is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land And on the strangest sea, Yet never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

__**A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest**__

A WOUNDED deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is the mail of anguish, In which it caution arm, Lest anybody spy the blood And “You ’re hurt” exclaim!

__**Because I Could Never 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 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.