The Bee Is Not Afraid of Me, by Emily Dickinson

The Bee Is Not Afraid of Me

111

The Bee is not afraid of me.

I know the Butterfly.

The pretty people in the Woods

Receive me cordially—

The Brooks laugh louder when I come—

The Breezes madder play;

Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,

Wherefore, Oh Summer’s Day?

977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair

591 To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere— And even when the Snow

My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper

459 A Tooth upon Our Peace The Peace cannot deface— Then Wherefore be the Tooth? To vitalize the Grace—

447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?

LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just

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

195 For this—accepted Breath— Through it—compete with Death— The fellow cannot touch this Crow… By it—my title take—

It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured…

766 My Faith is larger than the Hills… So when the Hills decay— My Faith must take the Purple Wh… To show the Sun the way—

253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake

452 The Malay—took the Pearl— Not—I—the Earl— I—feared the Sea—too much Unsanctified—to touch—

265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!

141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

532 I tried to think a lonelier Thing Than any I had seen— Some Polar Expiation—An Omen in… Of Death’s tremendous nearness—