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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Robin's my Criterion for Tune</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">285</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386213" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Robin's my Criterion for Tune—<br>Because I grow—where Robins do—<br>But, were I Cuckoo born—<br>I'd swear by him—<br>The ode familiar—rules the Noon—<br>The Buttercup's, my Whim for Bloom—<br>Because, we're Orchard sprung—<br>But, were I Britain born,<br>I'd Daisies spurn—<br>None but the Nut—October fit—<br>Because, through dropping it,<br>The Seasons flit—I'm taught—<br>Without the Snow's Tableau<br>Winter, were lie—to me—<br>Because I see—New Englandly—<br>The Queen, discerns like me—<br>Provincially—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Emily+Dickinson">Emily Dickinson</a></strong></div>

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