by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < Dawn (When night is almost done)
Dead > > >
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!
< < < Dawn (When night is almost done)
Dead > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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