Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 14
Chapter 74 of 146 · 1 min read
IN SHADOW.
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.
XV.
THE HUMMING-BIRD.
A route of evanescence With a revolving wheel; A resonance of emerald, A rush of cochineal; And every blossom on the bush Adjusts its tumbled head, — The mail from Tunis, probably, An easy morning's ride.
