Ode To a Bee

Swift bee, the gilded messenger of bliss, Begirt with golden stars of Heaven’s span, What draws you to the clover’s gentle kiss? Sweet nectars, that the strongest drinker can Carouse with dreams and dizzy waves of sleep, Or mocks the freshest breath of summer’s clime? Swift bee, a flame-plumed star of black and gold, Why do you with your mouth, completely reap The liquors that each golden bud does hold, And lulls with somnolence the might of time? Oh, bee, you spread the tufted pollen clouds Like nebulae of opal stars crossways The delicate, soft digitalis crowds, Which passionately garner sunbeam rays Within their coral shells. I can’t express How much your toil’s worth to coming spring, And how so passioned glide your wings around The purple, gentle harebell’s loosened dress, And make, through pretty hums, spring’s hopeful sound Oft too profaned by your most fearsome sting! Oh, pretty hummer! Hearty worker! Bee! I see you roaming round the garden’s bend, Where sweet, white daisies wreathe a canopy, And make you but a hearty, cheerful friend. Swift bee, the aching, swollen heart of mine Desires comfort where pain knows no ruth The buds hold, like rich garners golden grain, Ambrosia of the gods, dream’s honeyed wine So bring and let dear bee, such moisture stain My lips and warm my heart with spring’s bright youth! © 2014 Gleb Zavlanov