I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm some 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 —...
The Robin for the Crumb
Returns no syllable
But long records the Lady's name
In Silver Chronicle.
The Robin is a Gabriel
In humble circumstances —
His Dress denotes him socially,
Of Transport's Working Classes —
He has the punctuality
Of the New England Farmer —
The same oblique integrity,
A Vista vastly warmer —
A small but sturdy Residence
A self denying...
The Robin is the One
That interrupt the Morn
With hurried — few — express Reports
When March is scarcely on —
The Robin is the One
That overflow the Noon
With her cherubic quantity —
An April but begun —
The Robin is the One
That speechless from her Nest...
The Robin's my Criterion for Tune —
Because I grow — where Robins do —
But, were I Cuckoo born —
I'd swear by him —
The ode familiar — rules the Noon —
The Buttercup's, my Whim for Bloom —
Because, we're Orchard sprung —
But, were I Britain born,
I'd Daisies spurn —
...