THE WILD BEES' HOME.
Reading edition
Wild bees of the wood are we; But our hive you must not see: Here behold our happy home, Where we labor, where we roam. Brooks that on their shining bosoms Catch the overhanging blossoms; Banks all bright with clustering flowers,— Here is where we pass our hours. Seldom on this solitude Does a girl or boy intrude; Few among you are aware What a home is ours, so fair! In the brook are little fish; You would like them on a dish: Keep away, and bring no hooks To these happy, murmuring brooks. You would like to find our hoard Of honey-comb and honey stored; You would track us, if you could, Through the field, and through the wood, Till, within some hollow tree, You our waxen cells could see. But beware now what you do; Treat us well, and we'll treat you.
Dora Burnside.
