I dreaded that first Robin, so

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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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