Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
. . . .
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Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
. . . .
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.

Burly, dozing humblebee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
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Burly, dozing humblebee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek.
I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid-zone!

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
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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,
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Listen! O, listen!
Here come the hum the golden bees
Underneath full blossomed trees,
At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.

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.

The wild Bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,
Now read more

The wild Bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,
Now in a lily cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering.

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
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The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.

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