285 The Robin's my Criterion for Tune Because I grow—where Robins do But, were I Cuckoo born I'd swear by him The ode familiar—rules the Noon The bu*tercup's, my Whim for Bloom Because, we're Orchard sprung But, were I Britain born I'd Daisies spurn None but the Nut—October fit Because, through dropping it The Seasons flit—I'm taught Without the Snow's Tableau Winter, were lie—to me Because I see—New Englandly The Queen, discerns like me Provincially