On the Wing The Bee Like trains of cars on tracks of plush I hear the level bee: A jar across the flowers goes, Withstands until the sweet assault Their chivalry consumes, To vanquish other blooms. His feet are shod with gauze, His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune; Of clovers and of noon! EMILY DICKINSON. The Humble-Bee Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Thou animated torrid zone! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Insect lover of the sun, Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air; Epicurean of June, Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum,- When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall, And with softness` touching all, Tints the human countenance Hot midsummer's petted crone, On the Wing Tells of countless sunny hours, Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Hath my insect never seen; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and daffodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Wiser far than human seer, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheat; Want and woe, which torture us, RALPH WALDO EMERSON. All Things Wait Upon Thee Innocent eyes not ours And made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds, and insects small; Morn after summer morn The sweet rose on her thora Opens her bosom to them all. The last and least of things, That soar on quivering wings, Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, To their appointed portion of delight As queens or kings. CHRISTINA G. Rossetti. Providence Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! Or the Wing On the Wing Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, Say, with richer crimson glows Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, One there lives, whose guardian eye REGINALD HEBER. |