View of the Little Union Canal on the last day of October, 2014.
Emily didn't put titles on her poems, but she took a great deal of care
arranging the sounds in them. This is one of the poems
that were bound into those little booklets she made,
booklets we now call "fascicles."
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!
Emily Dickinson (1830–86)
I'll leave it up to you to imagine the sparkling diamonds worn by her imaginary "jew" What silly things we say that we've learned from the voices around us; now we are being beleaguered about "Redskins." Good night.
Mr. Wood Duck gives me a quizzical glance!