“Did the harebell loose her girdleTo the lover bee,Would the bee the harebell hallowMuch as formerly?”

“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,One clover, and a bee,And revery.The revery alone will do,If bees are few.”

“The lovely flowersembarrass me.They make me regretI am not a bee...”

“The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.”

“To see her is a picture—To hear her is a tune—To know her an IntemperanceAs innocent as June—To know her not—Affliction—To own her for a FriendA warmth as near as if the SunWere shining in your Hand.”

“The Soul selects her own Society—Then—shuts the Door—To her divine Majority—Present no more—Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pausing—At her low Gate—Unmoved—an Emperor be kneelingUpon her Mat—I've known her—from an ample nation—Choose One—Then—close the Valves of her attention—Like Stone—”

“Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Nature's West -”