Image by kenne
“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!”
— Nature, Poem 15: The Bee by Emily Dickinson
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“The world is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first,
nature is incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on,
there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine beings
more beauty than words can tell.”
— from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman,
Related articles
- Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” (leiterreports.typepad.com)
- Leaves of Grass (uglicoyote.wordpress.com)
