Emily Dickinson Poems

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The Wind -- tapped like a tired Man --
And like a Host -- "Come in"
I boldly answered -- entered then
My Residence within

A Rapid -- footless Guest --
To offer whom a Chair
Were as impossible as hand
A Sofa to the Air --

No Bone had He to bind Him --
His Speech was like the Push
Of numerous Humming Birds at once
From a superior Bush --

His Countenance -- a Billow --
His Fingers, as He passed
Let go a music -- as of tunes
Blown tremulous in Glass --

He visited -- still flitting --
Then like a timid Man
Again, He tapped -- 'twas flurriedly --
And I became alone --

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