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Listings |
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Alexander Pope
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?
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Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta
The honey-bee that wanders all day long The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er, To gather in his fragrant winter store, Humming in calm content his winter song, Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast, The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips, But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips The single drop of sweetness closely pressed Within the poison chalice.
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Charles Tennyson Turner
The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.
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Emily Dickinson
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
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Emily Dickinson
His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of noon!
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George Herbert
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.
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Helen Hunt Jackson Helen Hunt
O bees, sweet bees! I said; that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells.
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Isaac Watts
How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower.
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James Russell Lowell
Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.
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John Gay
The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
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Marcus Valerius Martial
The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar. It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils; we may suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death.
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Ralph Waldo Emerson
Burly, dozing humblebee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek. I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone!
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Ralph Waldo Emerson
Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, . . . . Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
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Robert Herrick
For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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Robert Southey
The solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life, Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.
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William Shakespeare
Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavor in continual motion; To which is fixed as an aim or butt Obedience; for so work the honeybees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts, Where some like magistrates correct at home, Others like merchants venture trade abroad, Others like soldiers armed in their stings Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor, Who, busied in his majesties, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice with his surly hum Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone.
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