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Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Three: Nature 66. Like trains of cars on tracks of plush

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!