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