Skip to content
1830–1886

THE WIND.

Emily Dickinson

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.

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
THE WIND. · Emily Dickinson · Poetry Cove