Our window-panes enthral our summer bees; (To insect woes I give this little page) -- We hear them threshing in their idle rage Those crystal floors of famine, while, at ease, Their outdoor comrades probe the nectaries Of flowers, and into all sweet blossoms dive; Then home, at sundown, to the happy hive, On forward wing, straight through the dancing flies; For such poor strays a full-plumbed wisp I keep, And when I see them pining, worn, and vext, I brush them softly with a downward sweep To the raised sash -- all-angered and perplext: So man, the insect, stands on his defense Against the very hand of Providence. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE WATERFALL by HENRY VAUGHAN PSALM 137 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE ON THE THRESHOLD by LE ROY J. N. BOYD SHANAHAN'S OULD QUEEN by GERALD BRENNAN |