Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete

Excerpt: … been outgrown, And Occident becomes unknown, His name remain. XXX. THE WlND’S VISIT. 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, if he pass, Let go a music, as of tunes Blown tremulous in glass. He visited, still flitting; Then, like a timid man, Again he tapped