Such A Blush In The Midst Of

The Moon, The Moon, So Silver And Cold, Her Fickle Temper Has Oft Been Told, Now Shade--now Bright And Sunny-- But Of All The Lunar Things That Change, The One That Shows Most Fickle And Strange, And Takes The Most Eccentric Range, Is The Moon--so Called--of Honey!

O Men With Sisters Dear, O Men With Mothers And Wives, It Is Not Linen You 're Wearing Out, But Human Creatures' Lives!

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

Well For The Drones Of The Social Hive That There Are Bees Of An Industrious Turn, Willing, For An Infinitesimal Share Of The Honey, To Undertake The Labor Of Its Fabrication.

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.