The Questing Bee
My soul goes questing like the honey-bee,
In untrod gardens, where Love walked of old,
And, humming on sweet errands, slyly learns
The secrets the Madonna lilies hold;
Where the Sun Dial Miser jealous counts
His glowing tale of golden-slipping hours,
That all escape, despite his watchful care,
To paint the sun-dreams in the hearts of flowers.
And no one thinks the honey-bees have souls,
That drink the love vow from the blushing rose,
But, by the fountain's silver poetry,
The marble Faun stone-smiles; he better knows.
In untrod gardens, where Love walked of old,
And, humming on sweet errands, slyly learns
The secrets the Madonna lilies hold;
Where the Sun Dial Miser jealous counts
His glowing tale of golden-slipping hours,
That all escape, despite his watchful care,
To paint the sun-dreams in the hearts of flowers.
And no one thinks the honey-bees have souls,
That drink the love vow from the blushing rose,
But, by the fountain's silver poetry,
The marble Faun stone-smiles; he better knows.
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