Hello, every one……

Today I would like to take about “Emily Dickinson - The reclusive muse of
American poetry”
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830. She was an
American poet. Little-known during her life, she has since been regarded as one
of the most important figures in American poetry. Dickinson was born in
Amherst, Massachusetts, into a prominent family with strong ties to its
community. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her
youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before
returning to her family's home in Amherst
Throughout her life as a recluse, Emily Dickinson served as one of the most
important figures in modern American poetry.
Evidence suggests that Dickinson lived much of her life in isolation. Considered
an eccentric by locals, she developed a penchant for white clothing, was known
for her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, even to leave her bedroom .
Dickinson never married, and most of her friendships were based entirely upon
correspondence.
Emily Dickinson died in Amherst in 1886. A few years after her death, family
members found hand-sewn volumes containing nearly 1,800 poems.
When her first book of poetry was published in 1890, four years after her death,
it achieved astonishing success, going into 11 editions in less than two years.
However, for more than a century, her works still had to go through many
stages of editing. It was not until the printed edition in 1998 that her order,
punctuation, and unusual spelling style were fully restored.
With most of her life information locked behind her bedroom door, poetry is the
only means for readers to reach the female poet. From original wordplay,
unpredictable rhymes to abrupt line breaks, she bends old literary conventions
but also demonstrates a deep understanding and respect for the structure of
poetry while continuously challenge its limits.
All of that makes the mysterious Emily Dickinson one of America's most
important and unique poets of all time.
So, now I will read one of all the poems which were writen by Emily
Dickinson.
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.