Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!
First print Nature XV, 15
Johnson 1224 | Franklin 1213
The text may be used under any of the following licenses:
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE 4.0, BY-SA 3.0, and LICENSE 2.5.
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