The Wind
by Emily Dickinson
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
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.