  OUT of the house where the slumberer lay Grandfather came one summer day, He spake this wise to the murmuring bees: “The clover-bloom that kissed her feet And the posie-bed where she used to play, Have honey store, but none so sweet As ere our little one went away. O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low; For she is gone who loved you so.” A wonder fell on the listening bees Under those pleasant orchard trees, And in their toil that summer day Ever their murmuring seemed to say: “Child, O child, the grass is cool, And the posies are waking to hear the song Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool, Waiting for one that tarrieth long.” ’Twas so they called to the little one then, As if to call her back again. O gentle bees, I have come to say That grandfather fell asleep to-day, He has found his dear one’s biding-place. So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low, As over the honey-fields you sweep— To the trees abloom and the flowers ablow Sing of grandfather fast asleep; And ever beneath these orchard trees Find cheer and shelter, gentle bees. |
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