"The Bee" by Emily Dickinson

Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
 I hear the level bee:
 A jar across the flowers goes,
 Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
 Their chivalry consumes,
 While he, victorious, tilts away
 To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
 His helmet is of gold;
 His breast, a single onyx
 With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
 His idleness a tune;
 Oh, for a bee’s experience
 Of clovers and of noon!

Project Gutenberg's Poems: Three Series, Complete, by Emily Dickinson