Helen Hunt Jackson (Helen Hunt)

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly read more

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And read more

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And made his eldest son, one day,
Slave in his father's stead.

Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, read more

Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!

When the baby dies,
On every side
Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud.
read more

When the baby dies,
On every side
Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud.
The baby was not wrapped in any shroud.
The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed
That men's eyes might not see
Her misery.