William Henry Davies
The Collected Poems of William H. Davies
A bee goes mumbling homeward pleased,
He has not slaved away his hours;
He’s drunken with a thousand healths
Of love and kind regard for flowers.
Pour out the wine,
His joy be mine.
Forgetful of affairs at home,
He has sipped oft and merrily;
Forgetful of his duty—Oh!
What can he say to his queen bee?
He says in wine,
“Boo to her shrine!”
The coward dog that wags his tail,
And rubs the nose with mangy curs,
And fearful says, “Come play, not fight,”
Knows not the draught to drown his fears;
Knows not the wine,
The ruby shine.