Poemsby Emily Dickinson

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.