As the years passed, Emily's parents died (her father in June, 1874, her mother in 1882), and she became even more reclusive. Emily had retreated to such an extent that she could hardly bear to leave her room.

ELYSIUM IS AS FAR AS TO
THE VERY NEAREST ROOM,
IF IN THAT ROOM A FRIEND AWAIT
FELICITY OR DOOM.

WHAT FORTITUDE THE SOUL CONTAINS,
THAT IT CAN SO ENDURE
THE ACCENT OF A COMING FOOT,
THE OPENING OF A DOOR!

She died on May 15, 1886, essentially unknown outside her family and a small circle of friends. Nobody knows this little rose, this strange little bird Emily Dickinson. Neither her life, nor the Calvinism that was imposed on her, nor her family, nor her sex, nor her time could render Emily Dickinson a genius. She did it all on her own. Like any truly American phenomenon, she did it alone, working with the few poor resources available, unconscious of influences and trends, Emily was completely original, completely ahead of her time. She looked to her posterity for the recognition denied her in life.