How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights -
When people have put out the Lights
And everything that has an Inn
Closes the shutter and goes in -
How pompous the Wind must feel Noons
Stepping to incorporeal Tunes
Correcting errors of the sky
And clarifying scenery
How mighty the Wind must feel Morns
Encamping on a thousand dawns
Espousing each and spurning all
Then soaring to his Temple Tall -
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- I am afraid to own a Body
- On That Dear Frame The Years Had Worn
- The Himmaleh Was Known To Stoop
- She Staked Her Feathers—gained An Arc
- What Shall I Do—it Whimpers So