How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights – 
When people have put out the Lights
And everything that has an Inn
Closes the shutter and goes in – 

How pompous the Wind must feel Noons
Stepping to incorporeal Tunes
Correcting errors of the sky
And clarifying scenery

How mighty the Wind must feel Morns
Encamping on a thousand dawns
Espousing each and spurning all
Then soaring to his Temple Tall – 
Emily Dickinson

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