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Emily Dickinson - The day came slow, till five o` clock
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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 `t was, to stay
A guest in this stupendous place,
The parlor of the day!
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