There is a flower that Bees prefer
And Butterflies—desire
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire

And Whatsoever Insect pass
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture
Or Rhododendron—worn

She doth not wait for June
Before the World be Green
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen

Contending with the Grass
Near Kinsman to Herself
For Privilege of Sod and Sun
Sweet Litigants for Life

And when the Hills be full
And newer fashions blow
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy
Her Public—be the Noon
Her Providence—the Sun
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune

The Bravest—of the Host
Surrendering—the last
Nor even of Defeat—aware
What cancelled by the Frost