Kids Poems » The White Cottage
Come here, my dear Loui, and laugh at thy fear ;
The bee has not hurt thee ; so brush off the tear,
And silence the sob, while I tell thee a tale
About the white cottage that stood in the vale.
Around that low dwelling sweet eglantine grew,
Bright golden-rod, cowslip, and violets blue ;
The raspberry-bloom, and a thousand wild flowers
Were scattered, or clustered, or twined into bowers.
The rich honeysuckle climbed up to its eaves ;
And near it the balm spread its high-odored leaves ;
Green trees stood around, the wing'd warblers to house,
And robins and yellow-birds built in their boughs.
And there the bird caroled at eve and at morn ;
And brought little haws they had plucked from the thorn,
Or wild seeds and insects they 'd gathered for food,
To drop in the wide-open beaks of their brood.
Behind the neat cot stood a snug little hive,
Which, had you peeped in, would have looked all alive,
At twilight, with bees in a swarm on the comb,
Retired for the night, at their cellular home.
But soon as the day dawned, the bees issued out,
To fly to the new-opened flowers all about,
Where, making their bread and their honey, they thought
Of winter, when none could be made, or be bought.
Then, back to the hive with their treasures they went,
Where all brought together with love and content,
The fruits of their labor, in one common store
To save for the future ; and hied off for more.
While thus they were roving on air through the day,
And scattered so widely, still each knew the way
That led to their dear distant home, where at night,
They all met together in peace and delight.
At peace with mankind, and content with their lot,
A family dwelt in that snug little cot,
While known free from envy, and ever to thrive,
As busy and happy as bees of their hive.
And forth from the cottage two fair little girls
Would run, while the fresh morning breeze tossed their curls,
With joy in the eye, and a smile on the lip,
To see the glad bees at the honey-cups sip.
Said one to the other, " How charming to see
The flowers yield their honey to breakfast the bee,
And still in their colors and fragrance remain
As perfect as ever, and free from a stain."
" And then," said her sister, the brisk little bees
That range through the bloom of the plants and the trees,
And mind their own business, in constant employ,
Appear every moment of life to enjoy.
"They like not that others should come, it is true,
To meddle with them, or the course they pursue ;
And none ever learns they 've a sting, by its touch,
But those who have troubled or vexed them too much."
The children, those sweet little sisters, were seen,
At morn, where the bee fed, at eve, on the green
The fireflies were lighting with gem after gem,
To bloom like twin flowers of the vale on their stem.