The Bee (Dickinson)
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) English
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 !
More poems by Emily Dickinson
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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— …
-
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
-
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
-
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …
All poems by Emily Dickinson →