His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers' songs be turned to holy psalms;
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms.
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.
My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep.
The genteel thing is the genteel thing any time, if as be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.
No sun--no moon--no morn--no noon,
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day,
No warmth--no cheerfulness--no healthful ease,
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!
Sweet is every sound,
Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;
Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover
Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
For where's the state beneath the firmament
That doth excel the bees for government?
See the bees and butterflies, blessed creatures. Hear that blackbird, or perhaps it is a trush. We take what life we can.
If you deal carelessly with bees you will injure them,and will yourself be injured. And so with men. It cannot be otherwise, because natural love is the fundamental law of human life.
Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.
Busy bees chased the bloom chaste Though they crawled on her clothes her petals unfolded and those held close still ever faithful to the sun is the everpure rose Whether her hue is violet or rose Whether she grows in freedom or rows ever to God in waves arose the love perfume from the heart of the rose.
When you go in search of honey you must expect to be stung by bees.
Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise Their Master's flower, but leave it having done, As fair as ever and as fit to use; So both the flower doth stay and honey run.
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.
Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavor in continual motion; To which is fixed as an aim or butt Obedience; for so work the honeybees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts, Where some like magistrates correct at home, Others like merchants venture trade abroad, Others like soldiers armed in their stings Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor, Who, busied in his majesties, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice with his surly hum Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone.
One who is too wise an observer of the business of others, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.
A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.
And a breastplate made of daisies, Closely fitting, leaf on leaf, Periwinkles interlaced Drawn for belt about the waist; While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief.
Again let us dream where the land lies sunny And live, like the bees, on our hearts' old honey, Away from the world that slaves for money-- Come, journey the way with me.
One who is too wise an observer of the business of others, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.
Green little vaulter, in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole noise that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass.
Hebe's here, May is here! The air is fresh and sunny; And the miser-bees are busy Hoarding golden honey.
the blackberry bees reorchestrate their chant.