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This iambic lyric poem tells of her personal experience with the dread of the approach of spring "that first robin." It is resolved with her reluctant acknowledgement that all the parade of spring did come and--now--must leave her alone again. The theme is a self-pitying one of a fear of loss that governs her acceptance of beauty.
Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums—
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