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.
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- We Thirst At First—'Tis Nature's Act
- Should You But Fail At—sea
- Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear
- Of Being Is A Bird
- We Cover Thee—sweet Face