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.