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.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Emily Dickinson's poem A Word made Flesh is seldom

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