fear their yellow gown

Rob Storrs

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 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 [King] of Calvary.


Each one salutes me as he goes,
And I my childish plumes
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking drums.