Poems by Emily Dickinson Part 32

x.x.x.

THE WlND'S VISIT.

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 pa.s.s, Let go a music, as of tunes Blown tremulous in gla.s.s.

He visited, still flitting; Then, like a timid man, Again he tapped -- 't was flurriedly -- And I became alone.

x.x.xI.

Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets, -- Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman, Yellow she affords Only scantly and selectly, Like a lover's words.

x.x.xII.

GOSSIP.

The leaves, like women, interchange Sagacious confidence; Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of Portentous inference,

The parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy, -- Inviolable compact To notoriety.

x.x.xIII.

SIMPLICITY.

How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A pa.s.sing universe put on; And independent as the sun, a.s.sociates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.

x.x.xIV.

STORM.

It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.

Eclipse was all we could see at the window, And awe was all we could feel.

By and by the boldest stole out of his covert, To see if time was there.

Nature was in her beryl ap.r.o.n, Mixing fresher air.

x.x.xV.

THE RAT.

The rat is the concisest tenant.

He pays no rent, -- Repudiates the obligation, On schemes intent.

Balking our wit To sound or circ.u.mvent, Hate cannot harm A foe so reticent.

Neither decree Prohibits him, Lawful as Equilibrium.

x.x.xVI.

Frequently the woods are pink, Frequently are brown; Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

Oft a head is crested I was wont to see, And as oft a cranny Where it used to be.

And the earth, they tell me, On its axis turned, -- Wonderful rotation By but twelve performed!

x.x.xVII.

A THUNDER-STORM.

The wind begun to rock the gra.s.s With threatening tunes and low, -- He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky.