Emily Dickinson (10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)
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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