Emily Dickinson's poetry, almost entirely posthumous, deals, in a sometimes outrageously transparent way, with immortality, about which perhaps people are still entitled to speak - or not. They all seem metaphysical paradoxes that suddenly found their evidential elements in the natural world. Birds, trees, plants, waters, stones, people, the earth - all become parts of an unprecedented metaphysical argument, a dense texture of thoughts that unfold within the core of the lyrical "I" and have mortality as a constant reference. Emily Dickinson's immortality, forged on the reality of death, is not a request or a theological claim; it is a painful working hypothesis for understanding the natural world and a condition of its relevance to the human mind. It is difficult to find in the Western world poetry so deeply in solidarity with the pain of mortality.