Emily Dickinson Poem

First Robin

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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.

Fitter to see Him, I may be
Finite—to fail, but infinite to Venture


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