Emily Dickinson

I Dreaded That First Robin, So

poem 348

I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, 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 ’twas 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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