Poemsby Emily Dickinson

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!