The Humble Bee I’m glad I’m not a bee That can’t be sung about, And can’t enjoy the sting, Which punishes the cheek.

With heartfelt love and harmony, Among the gathering floors, There lurks a queen: at sunset She is the easy source.

No flower but covets her abode, No house can keep them in, For love is in the strife of clay, And the freedom of the din.

So dwell in peace, ye gentle hearts, And bear within no scorn. In the subtle hum of summer’s charts, There is the charm reborn.

• Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr