Poetry

Poetry Friday: Robins

Robins have a certain dignity.

They’re great mothers — they fly straight and fast, like an arrow, after the blue jays that try to rob their nests.

Plus, who can fail to notice their excellent posture as they hop across the lawn? They lose points for their prolonged mutilation of earthworms, though. Emily Dickinson captures the two sides of my feeling about robins in this familiar poem:

A Bird came down the Walk —
He did not know I saw —
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass —
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass —

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around —
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought —
He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home —

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam —
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.

On the one hand, savage; on the other, “velvet” and “plashless.” On the one hand, the hunter; on the other, “frightened beads” for eyes.

On the one hand, the speaker is the hunter: “He did not know I saw.” On the other, she’s cautious, “like one in danger.”

Now for a bird watching question: I’m confused about young robins. I’m told that this is a young robin, and it does look robinish. The stubby tail is apparently the last feathered part of a bird to mature…

…but this is one that appeared in our yard this morning. This is more what I’m used to seeing. It’s not so round, has a long tail, and has no red breast.

Why do they look so different? Which one is further along in the maturing process? Feel free to weigh in in the comments. And be sure to visit the other Poetry Friday postings over at Check It Out.

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