The nearest Dream recedes—unrealized
The Heaven we chase
Like the June Bee—before the School Boy
Invites the Race
Stoops—to an easy Clover
Dips—evades—teases—deploys
Then—to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace
Heedless of the Boy
Staring—bewildered—at the mocking sky
Homesick for steadfast Honey
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!