I fear thee, ancient Beekeeper!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the honey combed nest.
I fear thee and thy glittering eye,Your pollen laden sacks!’
- “Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone High in a bee
tree swaying in the wind!
And never a saint took pity on My soul in again.
The many bees, so beautiful! And all dead they would lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.
The moving moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide: Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside -
Like April hoar-frost spread;
What would become of these fair ladies
Did not I intervene?
So with rope and blade I did climb
to their lofty perch on high.
I hacked and cut and struggled to save.
And with a last deafening snap did free
The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free The Bees fell off, and floated to the hive bellow the tree.There was a lot of fun in the backyard on Monday