Emily Dickinson

The Day Came Slow

The day came slow, till five o’clock, Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light, A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east. The sunrise shook from fold. Like breadths of topaz, packed a night, The lady just unrolled. The happy winds their timbrels took; The birds in docile rows, Arranged themselves around their prince. (The wind is prince of those.) The orchard sparkled like a Jew, How mighty ’twas to stay, A guest in this stupendous place, The parlor of the day.

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