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Poem	"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles. Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells." Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield, I set, and patient for the autumn's yield Of sweet I waited. When the village bells Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed My hive. Alas! no snowy honey there Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away Their queen and left no trace. That very day, An idle drone who sauntered through the air I tracked and followed, and he led me where My truant bees and stolen honey lay. Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.
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