A Feather From The Whippoorwill
Emily Dickinson
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin Of mellow—murmuring thread— Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt In “Recess”—Overhead!
Next 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : A Field Of Stubble, Lying Sere
- Emily Dickinson : A First Mute Coming
- Emily Dickinson : A Flower Will Not Trouble Her, It Has So Small A Foot
- Emily Dickinson : A Full Fed Rose On Meals Of Tint
- Emily Dickinson : A Fuzzy Fellow, Without Feet
- Emily Dickinson : A Great Hope Fell
- Emily Dickinson : A Happy Lip-breaks Sudden
- Emily Dickinson : A House Upon The Height
- Emily Dickinson : A Lady Red-amid The Hill
- Emily Dickinson : A Lane Of Yellow Led The Eye
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : A Faded Boy-in Sallow Clothes
- Emily Dickinson : A Face Devoid Of Love Or Grace
- Emily Dickinson : A Dying Tiger-moaned For Drink
- Emily Dickinson : A Drunkard Cannot Meet A Cork
- Emily Dickinson : A Drop Fell On The Apple Tree
- Emily Dickinson : A Doubt If It Be Us
- Emily Dickinson : A Door Just Opened On A Street
- Emily Dickinson : A Dimple In The Tomb
- Emily Dickinson : A Diamond On The Hand
- Emily Dickinson : A Dew Sufficed Itself-