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The Wind’s Visit
The wind tapped like a tired man,And like a host, “Come in,”I boldly answered; entered thenMy residence within
A rapid, footless guest,To offer whom a chairWere as impossible as handA sofa to the air.
No bone had he to bind him,His speech was like the pushOf numerous humming-birds at onceFrom a superior bush.
His countenance a billow,His fingers, if he pass,Let go a music, as of tunesBlown tremulous in glass.
He visited, still flitting;Then, like a timid man,Again he tapped—‘t was flurriedly—And I became alone.