Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 4
Chapter 66 of 146 · 1 min read
DAY'S PARLOR.
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 't was, to stay A guest in this stupendous place, The parlor of the day!
