Emily Dickinson
The Wind (Version 2)
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.