A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength --

A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He --
"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.

Added: Jan 9 2004 | Viewed: 2143 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Emily Dickinson
Poem: 1651. A Word made Flesh is seldom
Volume: Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Year: Published/Written in 1955
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