To a Honey Bee by Stephen J Dawson Jr.
The tree flowers in Spring with blossoms that bring a lure so nectarean Hangs ‘bove a lake and is not so vain to witness her reflection
Narcissus wanes, drown’d in shame lest blue suicide reveals his imperfections
Such majesty towers o’er his star-cross’d love with the mirror, crystalline.
Though, more than the tree, humble be thy maiden of empress greens, of lily fields and rosey bleeds, the Grecian sprite with blessèd mead
The Apis forager of paint’d ‘scape serene! From every colour, light can gleam, blues, yellows, and aubergine. Sanguine is I, the child’s realised fantasy
Her kingdom vast from land to sea, though no home quite like the waxen comb with such expanse, where ladies dance; like none again will I ever see
Like a Young English Poet once told of translations he heard out-loud and bold, I was hazly and lost in amaze (though, the spirits also took their hold!)
Long as Agros still stands, I will keep her, and she will keep me!
The common things awe that musèd Keats didn’t die with he nor were they taint nor wrote off as a quaint catalogue of the dull, and ordinary
The Nightingale is as immortal as he once writ and still sings her lyre that posey desires, accompanied by lute and the crescendo required for the buzzing hymn that I admire
To ascend the stairs from the library into the reality that I hath craft with a honey draught, the dew-odour that perfumes my own Lake Isle of Innisfree
Oft’ times bemusèd and in Elysium, tomb’d with romance, amused with the lustrous tales from the tongue of Mercury said. The verse they spake be not from liars, for you, Sweet Mellifera, set my heart afire.
The arduous relent of the fair, virgin nymphets, begifts through tumultuous roam
To mine and to thine such aureate divine taste and blessèd gladness
Be it blood or turmoil, swarm, simple toil, Mellifera keeps loyal to sisters and drones
But sure she be martyr’d, adored by none more, then the queen and St Stephen. For the proper Lord begat Agnes!
O! She is tender, but with a veil of such splendour, the heart of a man declares blissful surrender and finds elysian
But, alas! Mellifera, your foraging flight is met with the plight of monstrous men who can only benight
Now, I keep you, my keeper, but, lo, from thine fruit, my hands are strick’ with palsy. You were meant a muse for poesy and fruition
But, as I thus spake, for loveliness sake, a vow I’ve never vowed before, I doth dote and devote what’s left of my grit, thus state as I writ, to reignite your stainless delight.
Return ye, soon to Yeats’ Innisfree,
And defy Orwell’s spread Chestnut Tree
Where I’ll keep you, and you’ll keep me
Let us be as simply we be,
Me and my dear Honey Bee!
-Stephen J. Dawson Jr, 2018