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 ’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.