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.

The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the
sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems read more

The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the
sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar.
It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils; we may
suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
read more

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!

The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather read more

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.

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.

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.

You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee.

You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee.

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.

Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise
Their Master's flower, but leave it having done,
read more

Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise
Their Master's flower, but leave it having done,
As fair as ever and as fit to use;
So both the flower doth stay and honey run.