The Day Came Slow

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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.

© Emily Dickinson