The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his winter song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips,
But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness closely pressed
Within the poison chalice.
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You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee.
You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee.
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With read more
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies.
The little bee returns with evening's gloom,
To join her comrades in the braided hive,
Where, housed read more
The little bee returns with evening's gloom,
To join her comrades in the braided hive,
Where, housed beside their might honey-comb,
They dream their polity shall long survive.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
read more
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.
Listen! O, listen!
Here come the hum the golden bees
Underneath full blossomed trees,
read more
Listen! O, listen!
Here come the hum the golden bees
Underneath full blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
. . . .
read more
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
. . . .
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
The solitary Bee
Whose buzzing was the only sound of life,
Flew there on restless wing,
read more
The solitary Bee
Whose buzzing was the only sound of life,
Flew there on restless wing,
Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true
From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true
From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
read more
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.
