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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 374 of 446 · Third Series: Nature

The Wind

— ✻ —

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.

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