Emily Dickinson

First Robin

I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,– He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live Till that first shout got by, Not all pianos in the woods Had power to mangle me. I dared not meet the daffodils, For fear their yellow gown Would pierce me with a fashion So foreign to my own. I wished the grass would hurry, So when ‘t was time to see, He’d be too tall, the tallest one Could stretch to look at me. I could not bear the bees should come, I wished they’d stay away In those dim countries where they go: What word had they for me? They’re here, though; not a creature failed, No blossom stayed away In gentle deference to me, The Queen of Calvary. Each one salutes me as he goes, And I my childish plumes Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment Of their unthinking drums.

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