The Wind

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  "title": "The Wind",
  "author": "Emily Dickinson",
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  "summary": "\"The Wind\" by Emily Dickinson traces the poet's deep, almost reverent response to the sound of wind moving through trees — a melody she describes as \"phraseless\" yet more charged with meaning than any human speech. Dickinson personifies the wind as a hand brushing the sky, its fingers trailing tunes permitted only to gods and herself. As winds circle and birds gather overhead like an orchestra, she pleads on behalf of anyone who has never heard this solemn, invisible chant rise through the boughs.",
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    "Of all the sounds despatched abroad, There’s not a charge to me Like that old measure in the boughs, That phraseless melody",
    "The wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky, Then quiver down, with tufts of tune Permitted gods and me.",
    "When winds go round and round in bands, And thrum upon the door, And birds take places overhead, To bear them orchestra,",
    "I crave him grace, of summer boughs, If such an outcast be, He never heard that fleshless chant Rise solemn in the tree,",
    "As if some caravan of sound On deserts, in the sky, Had broken rank, Then knit, and passed In seamless company."
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  "body_text": "Of all the sounds despatched abroad, There’s not a charge to me Like that old measure in the boughs, That phraseless melody\n\nThe wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky, Then quiver down, with tufts of tune Permitted gods and me.\n\nWhen winds go round and round in bands, And thrum upon the door, And birds take places overhead, To bear them orchestra,\n\nI crave him grace, of summer boughs, If such an outcast be, He never heard that fleshless chant Rise solemn in the tree,\n\nAs if some caravan of sound On deserts, in the sky, Had broken rank, Then knit, and passed In seamless company.",
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    "Of all the sounds despatched abroad, There's not a charge to me Like that old measure in the boughs, That phraseless melody",
    "The wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky, Then quiver down, with tufts of tune Permitted gods and me.",
    "When winds go round and round in bands, And thrum upon the door, And birds take places overhead, To bear them orchestra,",
    "I crave him grace, of summer boughs, If such an outcast be, He never heard that fleshless chant Rise solemn in the tree,",
    "As if some caravan of sound On deserts, in the sky, Had broken rank, Then knit, and passed In seamless company."
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  "clean_text": "Of all the sounds despatched abroad, There's not a charge to me Like that old measure in the boughs, That phraseless melody\n\nThe wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky, Then quiver down, with tufts of tune Permitted gods and me.\n\nWhen winds go round and round in bands, And thrum upon the door, And birds take places overhead, To bear them orchestra,\n\nI crave him grace, of summer boughs, If such an outcast be, He never heard that fleshless chant Rise solemn in the tree,\n\nAs if some caravan of sound On deserts, in the sky, Had broken rank, Then knit, and passed In seamless company.",
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    "The wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky, Then quiver down, with tufts of tune Permitted gods and me.",
    "When winds go round and round in bands, And thrum upon the door, And birds take places overhead, To bear them orchestra,",
    "I crave him grace, of summer boughs, If such an outcast be, He never heard that fleshless chant Rise solemn in the tree,",
    "As if some caravan of sound On deserts, in the sky, Had broken rank, Then knit, and passed In seamless company."
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