Classic Poem

Within the clover's crimson cells
The brown bee finds delectables,
And, gathering, he bears them home
To store within the honeycomb
Against the chill of barren days,
When white drifts gird the clover-ways.

Observant of the toiler bee,
May we not learn philosophy?
Nor let the sweetnesses that lie
Wide spread beneath God's open sky
Neglected and ungarnered go,
At dawn-break and at even-glow,
But store them in a place apart,
That honeycomb which is the heart!