A woman called Amarillis falls asleep beside a softly murmuring spring. A robin, finding her perfectly still and unresponsive, thinks she must be dead, so it carefully covers her with leaves and moss in an almost funeral rite of care. Then, while peering at her closed eyes, the bird sees one lid slowly lift — a crack of daylight — and darts away in alarm. A moment later, realizing she’s not dead but simply stirring from sleep, the robin chirps with relief and pure delight at its own sweet mistake. The speaker watches all this with affection and a quiet smile, as if sharing a private joke with nature itself. The whole tiny scene feels woven from tenderness: a drowsy springtime warmth, a robin’s innocent concern, and a sleeping beauty who, for an instant, seemed to belong so utterly to the earth that a bird tried to bury her.
UPON MRS ELIZ. WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OFAMARILLIS — Summary
Sweet Amarillis, by a spring's Soft and soul-melting murmurings, Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew A Robin-red-breast; who at view, Not seeing her at all to stir, Brought leaves and moss to cover her: But while he, perking, there did pry About the arch of either eye, The lid began to let out day,-- At which poor Robin flew away; And seeing her not dead, but all disleaved, He chirpt for joy, to see himself deceived.