You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee.

Look tonight at the stars. Let them overwhelm you in the postures of their bright dance. Face the vastness which they dot like silver bees, and sound with your own brain the mystery, hazarding at the inscrutable plan of things.

In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?

Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.

How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower.

Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise Their Master's flower, but leave it having done, As fair as ever and as fit to use; So both the flower doth stay and honey run.