A Word Made Flesh
is Seldom
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
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 dwelth among us"
Could condescenion be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.
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