Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  
 

If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune with out the words,
And never stops at all.

And the 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.

Success is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today
can tell the definition
so clear, of victory.

As he defeated, dying.
On whose forbidden ear
the distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

He ate and Drank the Precious Words

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
nor that his frame was dust.

He danced along the dingy days.
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book, what liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

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 grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We passed 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.

VIII

That I did always love, I bring thee proof 
That till I loved
I did not love enough

That I shall love always
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.

XXIII

Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him-
Tell him the page I didn’t write,
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out

Tell him night finished before we finished
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended—
What could it hinder so, to say? 
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow, - happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!

XXXIV

What if I say I shall not wait?
What if I burst the fleshy gate
And pass, escaped, to thee?
What if I file this mortal off,
See where it hurt me,-that’s enough,-
And wade in liberty?

They cannot take us any more, -
Dungeons may call, and guns implore;
Unmeaning now, to me,
As laughter was an hour ago.
Or laces, or a traveling show,
Or who died yesterday!

XXXV

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

XXXVII

Love is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial or creation, and
the exponent of breath

XLII

To lose thee, sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew
‘T is true the drought is destitute,
but then I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea,
Without the sterile perquisite
No Caspian could be

XLIII

Poor Little heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Gay little heart!
Like morning glory
Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be!

XLVII

Heart, we will forget him!
You and I, tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light
When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my thoughts may dim,
Haste! Lest while you’re lagging,
I may remember him.