The Wind Trapped Like A Tired Man,

Emily Dickinson

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 push
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.

Next 10 Poems

• 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
• Emily Dickinson : The Zeroes-taught Us-phosphorous
• Emily Dickinson : Their Barricade Against The Sky
• Emily Dickinson : Their Dappled Importunity

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : The Wind Took Up The Northern Things
• Emily Dickinson : The Wind Drew Off
• Emily Dickinson : The Wind Didn't Come From The Orchard-today
• 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