HONEY FOR TEA

I’ve sat in the sun From three to five Watching the bees About the hive. They are horribly alive! From white to red, From red to white, They weave Euclidean Tangles of flight, And nowhere find delight: But them a maniac Industry eggs Onward; they grapple With hairy legs, Methodical to the dregs. The blossom rifled, With laden thighs Further each willing Eunuch plies: A dull way to fertilize. And back to their cells They come at last; Armed, incurious, Sailing past Me where I sit aghast. Oh, horrible That aught can be So sufficient, yet So unlike me! I shall go in to tea. There in the parlour I shall find Things to restore My peace of mind; By man for man designed. The rat-tail spoons, The china dishes, Smooth as the sequined Sides of fishes, Obedient to my wishes; The sturdy table So plain and whole, The meek sweet Of the sugar-bowl; These shall confirm my soul Till I, emboldened, Lift down from the shelf The hoarded treasure, Taken by stealth From that inimical Commonwealth.