Poems by Emily Dickinson

• throe upon the features, A
• Through lane it lay—through bramble
• Through the Dark Sod—as Education
• Through the strait pass of suffering
• Through those old Grounds of memory
• Through what transports of Patience
• Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord
• Till Death—is narrow Loving
• Time does go on—
• Time feels so vast that were it not
• Time’s wily Chargers will not wait
• Tint I cannot take—is best, The
• Tis Anguish grander than Delight
• Tis customary as we part
• Tis easier to pity those when dead
• Tis good—the looking back on Grief
• Tis little I—could care for Pearls
• Tis my first night beneath the Sun
• Tis not that Dying hurts us so
• Tis not the swaying frame we miss
• Tis One by One—the Father counts
• Tis Opposites—entice
• Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
• Tis so appalling—it exhilarates
• Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much joy!

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