Poems (Terry, 1861)/Bee-hunting

by Rose Terry Cooke

IV.

 

BEE-HUNTING.

When the sky is red and hazy,
And the winds are warm and lazy,
And the blackbirds chatter crazy,
 Hurrah for the forest free!
The Summer days are over,
The bees have sucked the clover,
And the honey-birds call and hover
 Over the hollow tree.

Catch the bee where you find him,
Follow on straight behind him,
Till home to his nest you've lined him,
 Then sing for the match and axe.
Gather bark from the birches,
Moss where the screech-owl perches,
And when the fire smokes and smirches,
 Chop till the tree-trunk cracks.

Ho, boys! stand from under!
Hear it topple and thunder;
Then rush in for the plunder;
 Dripping from comb and chip;
Clear as sunlight shining,
It drops from the waxen lining,
Sugar that needs no fining,
 Fit for a woman's lip.

Heap it in pail and kettle,
Never go off with a little,
Quick! or the bees will settle
 On something beside the trees.
Off with the stolen treasure!
The bears may take their pleasure,
Where we have left good measure
 For them and the drowsy bees.

When the sky is red and hazy,
And the winds are warm and lazy,
And the blackbirds chatter crazy,
 Hurrah for the forest free!
The Summer days are over,
But we get the best of the clover,
Where the honey-birds call and hover:
 Out of a hollow tree: