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   Chapter 217 No.217

Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete By Emily Dickinson Characters: 621

Updated: 2017-12-01 00:03


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 pus


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 - 't was flurriedly -

And I became alone.

* * *

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