The Wind Didn't Come From The Orchard-today
Emily Dickinson
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orchard—today— Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat— He’s a transitive fellow—very— Rely on that— If He leave a Bur at the door We know He has climbed a Fir— But the Fir is Where—Declare— Were you ever there? If He brings Odors of Clovers— And that is His business—not Ours— Then He has been with the Mowers— Whetting away the Hours To sweet pauses of Hay— His Way—of a June Day— If He fling Sand, and Pebble— Little Boys Hats—and Stubble— With an occasional Steeple— And a hoarse “Get out of the way, I say,” Who’d be the fool to stay? Would you—Say— Would you be the fool to stay?
Next 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind Drew Off
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind Took Up The Northern Things
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind Trapped Like A Tired Man,
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind-tapped Like A Tired Man
- Emily Dickinson : The Winters Are So Short
- Emily Dickinson : The Words The Happy Say
- Emily Dickinson : The Work Of Her That Went
- Emily Dickinson : The World-feels Dusty
- Emily Dickinson : The World-stands-solemner-to Me
- Emily Dickinson : The Worthlessness Of Earthly Things
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind Begun To Rock The Grass
- Emily Dickinson : The Wind Begun To Knead The Grass
- Emily Dickinson : The Whole Of It Came Not At Once
- Emily Dickinson : The White Heat
- Emily Dickinson : The Well Upon The Brook
- Emily Dickinson : The Way To Know The Bobolink
- Emily Dickinson : The Way I Read A Letter's-this
- Emily Dickinson : The Way Hope Builds His House
- Emily Dickinson : The Waters Chased Him As He Fled
- Emily Dickinson : The Voice That Stands For Floods To Me
