Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part Two: Nature
LXXV
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| OF all the sounds despatched abroad, | |
| There ’s not a charge to me | |
| Like that old measure in the boughs, | |
| That phraseless melody | |
| |
| The wind does, working like a hand | 5 |
| Whose fingers comb the sky, | |
| Then quiver down, with tufts of tune | |
| Permitted gods and me. | |
| |
| When winds go round and round in bands, | |
| And thrum upon the door, | 10 |
| And birds take places overhead, | |
| To bear them orchestra, | |
| |
| I crave him grace, of summer boughs, | |
| If such an outcast be, | |
| He never heard that fleshless chant | 15 |
| Rise solemn in the tree, | |
| |
| As if some caravan of sound | |
| On deserts, in the sky, | |
| Had broken rank, | |
| Then knit, and passed | 20 |
| In seamless company. | |
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