Dickinson's work reminds me of Sylvia Plath's poem re tulips (you may refer to this poem by clicking here). In any event, while at times I've felt the despair that both of these writers have expressed, I have been able to be consoled by the sight of flowers, including tulips; and I've been comforted by seeing birds; including robins.
Therefore, I was very moved when the robin — at least I think it was the same one — came back later that evening. And I think I'm right in believing that the robin who visited my garden was a male. All the materials I've read on the subject of a robin's gender support my belief. I've learned that the breast on male robins is a rusty red, which is certainly the case with my visitor.