From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
WHAT the bee is to the flowert,
He. — When he looks for honey-dew,
Through the leaves that close embower it,
That, my love, I’ll be to you.
What the bank, with verdure glowing,
She. — Is to waves that wander near,
Whispering kisses, while they’re going,
That I’ll be to you, my dear.
But they say, the bee’s a rover,
She. — Who will fly, when sweets are gone,
And, when once the kiss is over,
Faithless brooks will wander on.
Nay, if flowers will lose their looks
He. — If sunny banks will wear away,
’Tis but right that bees and brooks
Should sip and kiss them, while they may.
Thomas Moore’s other poems:
