Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place,--
Agony that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.

Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.

Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way,--
Instinct picking up the key
Dropped by memory.

other favorite poems
1 Success is counted sweetest
2 If I can stop one heart from breaking,
3 Within my reach!
4 A wounded deer leaps highest,
5 The heart asks pleasure first,
6 Some things that fly there be,--
7 To fight aloud is very brave,
8 When night is almost done,
9 Pain has an element of blank,
10 I had no time to hate, because
11 'Twas such a little, little boat
12 I'm nobody! Who are you?
13 Hope is the thing with feathers
14 Delight becomes pictorial
15 A thought went up my mind to-day
16 Before I got my eye put out,
17 I many times thought peace had come,
18 A word is dead
19 It's such a little thing to weep,
20 My life closed twice before its close;
21 While I was fearing it, it came,
22 Nature rarer uses yellow
23 As imperceptibly as grief
24 Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
25 Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
26 I like a look of agony,
27 I reason, earth is short,
28 If I shouldn't be alive
29 After a hundred years
30 Water is taught by thirst;