Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man, - Poem by Emily Dickinson

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 pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.

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


Comments about The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man, by Emily Dickinson

  • (6/11/2016 1:50:00 PM)


    ...........an excellent write...I'm pleased he tapped like a tired man, and he didn't kick the door open ★ (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: music, wind, alone



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 15, 2001

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 7, 2014


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