Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee
A jar across the flowers goes
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms

His feet are shod with gauze
His helmet is of gold
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid

His labor is a chant
His idleness a tune
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!