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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.
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Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems: Second Series, first published 1891 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Ezra Laderman (1924 - 2015), no title, published 1970 [ 2 narrators, piano and orchestra ], from Magic Prison, melodrama [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 160
J'appréhendais ce premier Merle, tant, Mais Il est dompté, maintenant, Je me suis habituée un peu à Lui devenu grand Il fait un peu mal, cependant -- Je pensais que si je pouvais seulement vivre Jusqu'à ce que ce premier Cri sorte -- Tous les Pianos dans les Bois Ne pourraient plus me déchirer -- Je n'osais pas rencontrer les Jonquilles -- Par crainte que leur Robe Jaune Ne me perce d'une mode Si étrangère à la mienne -- Je souhaitais que l'Herbe se dépêche -- Pour que quand ce serait l'heure de voir -- Il serait trop grand, le plus grand Pourrait s'étirer pour me regarder -- Je ne pouvais pas supporter que les Abeilles arrivent, Je souhaitais qu'elles restent loin Dans ces pays incertains où elles vont, Quelle parole avaient-elles à me dire ? Elles sont ici, cependant ; pas une créature n'a manqué -- Aucune Fleur n'est restée loin Par égards aimables pour moi -- La Reine du Calvaire -- Chacune me salue, en passant, Et Moi, mon plumet enfantin, Je le lève, en reconnaissance affligée De leurs Tambours étourdis --
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2009 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems: Second Series, first published 1891
This text was added to the website: 2009-12-18
Line count: 28
Word count: 170