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Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Emily Dickinson's Garden of Poetry

THE BEE.

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!

I think Dickinson finds bees to be enchanting. The is on a single cycle just go out get pollen return to the hive and retrieve more pollen. "His labor is a chant" This means all the bee does is work and does the same thing over and over again. 

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