WHAT IS IT THAT drives these bees from their home; these followers of unseen trails? What cry is this in their eager wings? How can they hear the music that sleeps in the flower soul? How can they find their way to the chamber where the honey lies shy and silent?
LIKE MY heart's pain that has long missed its meaning, the sun's rays robed in dark hide themselves under the ground. Like my heart's pain at love's sudden touch, they change their veil at the spring's call and come out in the carnival of colours, in flowers and leaves.
