by
Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
The wind tapped like a tired man
Language: English
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.
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Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Rudolf Escher (1912 - 1980), "The wind tapped like a tired man", 1955, published 1956 [ mixed chorus of 7-10 voices ], from Songs of Love and Eternity, no. 4 [sung text not yet checked]
- by David Horowicz (b. 1960), "The wind tapped like a tired man", 1988 [ soprano, viola, mandolin, guitar ], from Five songs on poems of Emily Dickinson, no. 5 [sung text not yet checked]
- by George Perle (1915 - 2009), "The wind tapped like a tired man" [ voice and piano ], from Thirteen Dickinson Songs, no. 6 [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 101
Wind klopfte wie ein müder Mann
Language: German (Deutsch) after the English
Wind klopfte wie ein müder Mann,
ich bat ihn kühn herein,
auf dass in Windeseil’ er dann
als Gast trat bei mir ein -
ein Gast, der fußlos kam;
ihm anzubieten einen Stuhl,
böt’ sich so wenig an
wie eine Ruhecouch der Luft.
Kein Körper war ihm eigen. -
Er klang wie Flügelschlag
von Kolibris, die zahllos schwirr’n
umher in Blütenzweigen.
Er kam wie Wellengang.
Zog er vorbei als Brise,
erklang Musik aus seiner Hand,
als ob man sacht in Gläser bliese.
Noch huschte er umher, mein Gast,
um dann mit scheuem Blick
letztmals zu klopfen - voller Hast.
Ich blieb allein zurück.
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2018-06-29
Line count: 20
Word count: 100
