by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < The Battle-Field
The bee is not afraid of me > > >
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!
< < < The Battle-Field
The bee is not afraid of me > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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