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Her public is the noon,
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Her providence the sun,
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Her progress by the bee proclaimed
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In sovereign, swerveless tune.
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The bravest of the host,
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Surrendering the last,
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Nor even of defeat aware
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When cancelled by the frost.
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XV.
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THE BEE.
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Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
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I hear the level bee:
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A jar across the flowers goes,
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Their velvet masonry
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Withstands until the sweet assault
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Their chivalry consumes,
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While he, victorious, tilts away
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To vanquish other blooms.
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His feet are shod with gauze,
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His helmet is of gold;
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His breast, a single onyx
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With chrysoprase, inlaid.
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His labor is a chant,
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His idleness a tune;
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Oh, for a bee's experience
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Of clovers and of noon!
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XVI.
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Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
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Indicative that suns go down;
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The notice to the startled grass
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That darkness is about to pass.
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XVII.
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As children bid the guest good-night,
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And then reluctant turn,
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My flowers raise their pretty lips,
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Then put their nightgowns on.
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As children caper when they wake,
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Merry that it is morn,
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My flowers from a hundred cribs
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Will peep, and prance again.
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XVIII.
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Angels in the early morning
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May be seen the dews among,
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Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
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Do the buds to them belong?
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Angels when the sun is hottest
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May be seen the sands among,
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Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying;
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Parched the flowers they bear along.
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XIX.
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So bashful when I spied her,
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So pretty, so ashamed!
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So hidden in her leaflets,
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Lest anybody find;
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So breathless till I passed her,
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So helpless when I turned
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And bore her, struggling, blushing,
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Her simple haunts beyond!
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For whom I robbed the dingle,
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For whom betrayed the dell,
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Many will doubtless ask me,
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But I shall never tell!
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XX.
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TWO WORLDS.
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It makes no difference abroad,
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The seasons fit the same,
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The mornings blossom into noons,
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And split their pods of flame.
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Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
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The brooks brag all the day;
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No blackbird bates his jargoning
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For passing Calvary.
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Auto-da-fe and judgment
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Are nothing to the bee;
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His separation from his rose
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