The Bee

XV. THE BEE.

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 !

 

from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)
Purple Clover	"Presentiment is not long shadow"

Sort by date Sort by score

Enable comment auto-refresher

Add your comment

ImmortalPoetry welcomes all comments. If you do not want to be anonymous, register or log in. It is free.