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AN INQUEST
Bumble’s dead! the young Grass springs,
Deep in blue a Laverock sings,
Violets nestle ’mid the lines
Of the bold bright Celandines,
Willow her golden goblet spills,
And puffs of airy wine distils,
Almond-scented and honey-fed;—
Bumble’s not asleep, he’s dead!
Dear big beautiful brown Bee,
What hurt you? Let me look and see . .
Thighs, and breast, and head and back—
No! There's not the slightest crack
In these greaves of burnish’d brass,
In this velvety cuirass,
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