Poems: Third Series/The Wind

by Emily Dickinson

 

XVI.

THE WIND.

IT's like the light,—
A fashionless delight
It's like the bee,—
A dateless melody.

It's like the woods,
Private like breeze,
Phraseless, yet it stirs
The proudest trees.

It's like the morning,—
Best when it's done,—
The everlasting clocks
Chime noon.