Poems about bees

Song of the Bees

by Hannah Flagg Gould

We watch for the light of the morn to break
And color the eastern sky With its blended hues of saffron and lake

Then say to each other, "Awake! awake!
For our winter's honey is all to make,
And our bread for a long supply!"

Then, off we hie to the hill and the dell,
In the columbine's horn we love to dwell,
To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,
To search the balm in its odorous cell,
The mint and the rosemary-flower.

We seek the bloom of the eglantine,
Of the painted thistle and brier;
And follow the steps of the wandering vine,Whether it trail on the earth, supine,
Or round the aspiring tree-top twine,
And reach for a state still higher.

As each, on the good of her sisters bent,
Is busy and cares for all;
We hope for an evening with hearts content,
For the winter of life without lament
And the harvest is past recall!

Why stand ye idle, blossoms bright

by John B. Tabb

Why stand ye idle,
Blossoms bright,
Livelong summer day?"
"Alas! we labour all the night
For what thou takest away.

How Doth the Little Busy Bee

by Isaac Watts

How doth the Little Busy Bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labors hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labor or of skill,

I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.

The Bees

by Thomas Hastings

Oh, mother dear, pray
tell me whereThe bees in winter stay?
The flowers are gone they feed upon,
So sweet in summer’s day.
My child, they live within the hive,
And have enough to eat;
Amid the storm they’re clean and warm,
Their food is honey sweet.
Say, mother dear, how came it there?
Did father feed them so?
I see no way in winter’s day
That honey has to grow.
No, no, my child; in summer mild
The bees laid up their store
Of honey-drops in little cups
Till they would want no more.
In cups, you said—how are they made?
Are they as large as ours?
Oh, no; they’re all made nice and small,
Of wax found in the flowers.

Note how Thomas cites the old belief that beeswax was gathered from flowers.