I had a guinea golden—

I had a guinea golden—
I lost it in the sand—
And tho' the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land—
Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye—
That when I could not find it—
I sat me down to sigh.

I had a crimson Robin—
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted,
He, too, did fly away—

Time brought me other Robins—
Their ballads were the same—
Still, for my missing Troubador
I kept the "house at hame."

I had a star in heaven—
One "Pleiad" was its name—
And when I was not heeding,
It wandered from the same.
And tho' the skies are crowded—
And all the night ashine—
I do not care about it—
Since none of them are mine.

My story has a moral—
I have a missing friend—
"Pleiad" its name, and Robin,
And guinea in the sand.
And when this mournful ditty
Accompanied with tear—
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here—
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize upon his mind—
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find.
                                                                  -  F 12 (1858)


Dickenson calls this a 'ditty' and that seems about right to me. The iambic trimeter establishes the lightness as do the word inversions such as "Beneath the sun may find" and "I sat me down to sigh." She summarizes her point for us in the last stanza: she is writing to a friend she misses and she playfully says he should repent of his absence. 
     I don't know who she is writing about. The usual suspects didn't live in faraway countries. Samuel Bowles traveled widely, so perhaps it was to him.

her little "Troubadour"
- Tom Grey

     The three images she picks are each of interest. The guinea she has lost is worth about $5 US dollars -- or 21 shillings. Even though pounds were freely available, she, being frugal, valued it. But not enough to not lose it. The interesting part is that she did lose it. Would the missed friend be complimented by being compared to a guinea when there were plenty of pounds? Or to being carelessly lost? Perhaps Dickinson didn't realize she would miss it until she had lost it.
     The next image is of a springtime robin who came and sang until full summer came, painting the woods with flowers. The robin then leaves on its migratory path and although other robins come each spring and sing the same songs, her heart belongs to that first one. Here, it is the robin who leaves the poet, headed to the next port of call. Meanwhile, the poet waits.
     The third image calls on the heavens as one of the seven Pleiads is missing. This has some astronomical basis as only six of the Pleiades are visible. The Greeks had it that all seven were transformed maidens--although they all ended up bearing children. One of the seven, Merope, had a child by a mortal man, however, and so faded away. Why Dickenson would address a poem to a man but name him as the missing Pleiad is a bit of a mystery to me. Perhaps she is writing instead to a school friend or another woman and included the masculine reference ("his mind") at the end as a tease, a red herring. It's difficult to believe she would be writing to Sue as she never undervalued Sue so much as to misplace her like the golden guinea.