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.