285 <br /> <br />The Robin's my Criterion for Tune— <br />Because I grow—where Robins do— <br />But, were I Cuckoo born— <br />I'd swear by him— <br />The ode familiar—rules the Noon— <br />The Buttercup's, my Whim for Bloom— <br />Because, we're Orchard sprung— <br />But, were I Britain born, <br />I'd Daisies spurn— <br />None but the Nut—October fit— <br />Because, through dropping it, <br />The Seasons flit—I'm taught— <br />Without the Snow's Tableau <br />Winter, were lie—to me— <br />Because I see—New Englandly— <br />The Queen, discerns like me— <br />Provincially—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-robin-s-my-criterion-for-tune/
