TO A BEE.Ha!pretty little bee,So artless, blithe, and free!Whither are you wanderingThus so gaily on the wing?To every flower o'erhung with dew,Whose leaves are blossoming for you;To the wild flowers far away,Bright and beautiful as they;From each blooming one to sipSweets, like those of woman's lip,Oh! happy, happy, happy bee,Would it were as free to me!Away! away! for ever thusYour airy flight has past from us;And you are gone where flowers invite,A pilgrimage of rich delight.But come not near the hollyhock,(2)Let not its blooms your fancy mock;Shun its nectaries so fair,Death is ever lurking there;On its petals if you light,You'll be seized with instant blight.Shun it as you onward fly!Sip its poison and you die!But hie thee to the lavender,Pretty little pilferer!Or the limetree, in whose breastYou oft have sipped yourself to rest.Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild,By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled,Where sunshine, like a robe of gold,Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold;There, in the calyx of the flower,You love the best at noontide hour,Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,The best of former nations quaff'd.Little rambler, do you knowWhy it is we love you so?It is for the ceaseless hymn,That you warble, as you swimThrough the odoriferous air,Light as fairy gossamer—'Tis, for you are always gay,Making life a holiday,Flying leisurely o'er earth,A wingëd messenger of mirth.When you meet the butterfly,'Neath the lovely summer sky,Do you show to her the bower,That contains the sweetest flower?Or do you take herself to be,While thus wandering so free,A floweret floating on the air,Making all delightful there?When the moon bursts forth above,Tinging all with light and love,When with soft and silky trace,Slumber finds a resting placeOn the eyes of bees and men;Snug within some floweret thenYou have made your bed, till dayShows the sweets your dreams pourtray.
Ha!pretty little bee,So artless, blithe, and free!Whither are you wanderingThus so gaily on the wing?To every flower o'erhung with dew,Whose leaves are blossoming for you;To the wild flowers far away,Bright and beautiful as they;From each blooming one to sipSweets, like those of woman's lip,Oh! happy, happy, happy bee,Would it were as free to me!Away! away! for ever thusYour airy flight has past from us;And you are gone where flowers invite,A pilgrimage of rich delight.But come not near the hollyhock,(2)Let not its blooms your fancy mock;Shun its nectaries so fair,Death is ever lurking there;On its petals if you light,You'll be seized with instant blight.Shun it as you onward fly!Sip its poison and you die!But hie thee to the lavender,Pretty little pilferer!Or the limetree, in whose breastYou oft have sipped yourself to rest.Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild,By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled,Where sunshine, like a robe of gold,Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold;There, in the calyx of the flower,You love the best at noontide hour,Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,The best of former nations quaff'd.Little rambler, do you knowWhy it is we love you so?It is for the ceaseless hymn,That you warble, as you swimThrough the odoriferous air,Light as fairy gossamer—'Tis, for you are always gay,Making life a holiday,Flying leisurely o'er earth,A wingëd messenger of mirth.When you meet the butterfly,'Neath the lovely summer sky,Do you show to her the bower,That contains the sweetest flower?Or do you take herself to be,While thus wandering so free,A floweret floating on the air,Making all delightful there?When the moon bursts forth above,Tinging all with light and love,When with soft and silky trace,Slumber finds a resting placeOn the eyes of bees and men;Snug within some floweret thenYou have made your bed, till dayShows the sweets your dreams pourtray.
Ha!pretty little bee,So artless, blithe, and free!Whither are you wanderingThus so gaily on the wing?To every flower o'erhung with dew,Whose leaves are blossoming for you;To the wild flowers far away,Bright and beautiful as they;From each blooming one to sipSweets, like those of woman's lip,Oh! happy, happy, happy bee,Would it were as free to me!Away! away! for ever thusYour airy flight has past from us;And you are gone where flowers invite,A pilgrimage of rich delight.But come not near the hollyhock,(2)Let not its blooms your fancy mock;Shun its nectaries so fair,Death is ever lurking there;On its petals if you light,You'll be seized with instant blight.Shun it as you onward fly!Sip its poison and you die!But hie thee to the lavender,Pretty little pilferer!Or the limetree, in whose breastYou oft have sipped yourself to rest.Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild,By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled,Where sunshine, like a robe of gold,Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold;There, in the calyx of the flower,You love the best at noontide hour,Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,The best of former nations quaff'd.Little rambler, do you knowWhy it is we love you so?It is for the ceaseless hymn,That you warble, as you swimThrough the odoriferous air,Light as fairy gossamer—'Tis, for you are always gay,Making life a holiday,Flying leisurely o'er earth,A wingëd messenger of mirth.When you meet the butterfly,'Neath the lovely summer sky,Do you show to her the bower,That contains the sweetest flower?Or do you take herself to be,While thus wandering so free,A floweret floating on the air,Making all delightful there?When the moon bursts forth above,Tinging all with light and love,When with soft and silky trace,Slumber finds a resting placeOn the eyes of bees and men;Snug within some floweret thenYou have made your bed, till dayShows the sweets your dreams pourtray.
Ha!pretty little bee,So artless, blithe, and free!Whither are you wanderingThus so gaily on the wing?To every flower o'erhung with dew,Whose leaves are blossoming for you;To the wild flowers far away,Bright and beautiful as they;From each blooming one to sipSweets, like those of woman's lip,Oh! happy, happy, happy bee,Would it were as free to me!Away! away! for ever thusYour airy flight has past from us;And you are gone where flowers invite,A pilgrimage of rich delight.
Ha!pretty little bee,
So artless, blithe, and free!
Whither are you wandering
Thus so gaily on the wing?
To every flower o'erhung with dew,
Whose leaves are blossoming for you;
To the wild flowers far away,
Bright and beautiful as they;
From each blooming one to sip
Sweets, like those of woman's lip,
Oh! happy, happy, happy bee,
Would it were as free to me!
Away! away! for ever thus
Your airy flight has past from us;
And you are gone where flowers invite,
A pilgrimage of rich delight.
But come not near the hollyhock,(2)Let not its blooms your fancy mock;Shun its nectaries so fair,Death is ever lurking there;On its petals if you light,You'll be seized with instant blight.Shun it as you onward fly!Sip its poison and you die!But hie thee to the lavender,Pretty little pilferer!Or the limetree, in whose breastYou oft have sipped yourself to rest.Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild,By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled,Where sunshine, like a robe of gold,Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold;There, in the calyx of the flower,You love the best at noontide hour,Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,The best of former nations quaff'd.Little rambler, do you knowWhy it is we love you so?It is for the ceaseless hymn,That you warble, as you swimThrough the odoriferous air,Light as fairy gossamer—'Tis, for you are always gay,Making life a holiday,Flying leisurely o'er earth,A wingëd messenger of mirth.
But come not near the hollyhock,(2)
Let not its blooms your fancy mock;
Shun its nectaries so fair,
Death is ever lurking there;
On its petals if you light,
You'll be seized with instant blight.
Shun it as you onward fly!
Sip its poison and you die!
But hie thee to the lavender,
Pretty little pilferer!
Or the limetree, in whose breast
You oft have sipped yourself to rest.
Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild,
By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled,
Where sunshine, like a robe of gold,
Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold;
There, in the calyx of the flower,
You love the best at noontide hour,
Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught,
The best of former nations quaff'd.
Little rambler, do you know
Why it is we love you so?
It is for the ceaseless hymn,
That you warble, as you swim
Through the odoriferous air,
Light as fairy gossamer—
'Tis, for you are always gay,
Making life a holiday,
Flying leisurely o'er earth,
A wingëd messenger of mirth.
When you meet the butterfly,'Neath the lovely summer sky,Do you show to her the bower,That contains the sweetest flower?Or do you take herself to be,While thus wandering so free,A floweret floating on the air,Making all delightful there?
When you meet the butterfly,
'Neath the lovely summer sky,
Do you show to her the bower,
That contains the sweetest flower?
Or do you take herself to be,
While thus wandering so free,
A floweret floating on the air,
Making all delightful there?
When the moon bursts forth above,Tinging all with light and love,When with soft and silky trace,Slumber finds a resting placeOn the eyes of bees and men;Snug within some floweret thenYou have made your bed, till dayShows the sweets your dreams pourtray.
When the moon bursts forth above,
Tinging all with light and love,
When with soft and silky trace,
Slumber finds a resting place
On the eyes of bees and men;
Snug within some floweret then
You have made your bed, till day
Shows the sweets your dreams pourtray.