Treading to right and left of thee,
  Doing thee homage wonderingly. 
  I see the wild bees as they fare,
  Thy cups of honey drink, but spare. 
  I mark thee bathe and bathe again
  In sweet uncalendared spring rain. 
  I watch how all May has of sun
  Makes haste to have thy ripeness done,
  While all her nights let dews escape
  To set and cool thy perfect shape. 
  Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause
  To dream and seek thy hidden laws! 
  I stretch my hand and dare to taste,
  In instant of delicious waste
  On single feast, all things that went
  To make the empire thou hast spent.

H.H.  JACKSON.

The Humble-bee.

  Burly, dozing humble-bee,
  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! 
  Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer,
  Let me chase thy waving lines;
  Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
  Singing over shrubs and vines.

  Insect lover of the sun,
  Joy of thy dominion! 
  Sailor of the atmosphere;
  Swimmer through the waves of air;
  Voyager of light and noon;
  Epicurean of June;
  Wait, I prithee, till I come
  Within earshot of thy hum,—­
  All without is martyrdom.

  When the south wind, in May days,
  With a net of shining haze
  Silvers the horizon wall,
  And with softness touching all,
  Tints the human countenance
  With a color of romance,
  And infusing subtle heats,
  Turns the sod to violets,
  Thou, in sunny solitudes,
  Rover of the underwoods,
  The green silence dost displace
  With thy mellow, breezy bass.

  Hot midsummer’s petted crone,
  Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
  Tells of countless sunny hours,
  Long days, and solid banks of flowers;
  Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
  In Indian wildernesses found;
  Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
  Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

  Aught unsavory or unclean
  Hath my insect never seen;
  But violets and bilberry bells,
  Maple-sap and daffodels,
  Grass with green flag half-mast high,
  Succory to match the sky,
  Columbine with horn of honey,
  Scented fern, and agrimony,
  Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue,
  And brier-roses, dwelt among;
  All beside was unknown waste,
  All was picture as he passed.

  Wiser far than human seer,
  Yellow-breeched philosopher! 
  Seeing only what is fair,
  Sipping only what is sweet,
  Thou dost mock at fate and care,
  Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. 
  When the fierce northwestern blast
  Cools sea and land so far and fast,
  Thou already slumberest deep;
  Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
  Want and woe, which torture us,
  Thy sleep makes ridiculous.