Poem XVI.

THE WIND.

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.