| Author |
Quotes |
| Albert H Fitz | You are my honey, honeysuckle, I am the bee. |
| Alexander Pope | In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew? |
| Charles Tennyson Turner | The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive. |
| Emily Dickinson | The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy. |
| Emily Dickinson | His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of noon! |
| George Herbert | Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise Their Master's flower, but leave it having done, As fair as ever and as fit to use; So both the flower doth stay and honey run. |
| Helen Hunt Jackson | "O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells." |
| Isaac Watts | How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower. |
| James Russell Lowell | Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned. |
| John Gay | The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies. |
| Marcus Valerius Martialndex | The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar. It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils; we may suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death. |
| Ralph Waldo Emerson | Burly, dozing humblebee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek. I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone! |
| Ralph Waldo Emerson | Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, . . . . Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. |
| Robert Herrick | For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes. |
| Robert Southey | The solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life, Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix. |
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