O Bees, Sweet Bees!" I

But All Lost Things Are In The Angels' Keeping, Love; No Past Is Dead For Us, But Only Sleeping, Love; The Years Of Heaven With All Earth's Little Pain Make Good Together There We Can Begin Again, In Babyhood.

O Proudly Name Their Names Who Bravely Sail| To Seek Brave Lost In Arctic Snows And Seas!

O May, Sweet-voice One, Going Thus Before, Forever June May Pour Her Warm Red Wine Of Life And Passions,--sweeter Days Are Thine!

I Know The Lands Are Lit, With All The Autumn Blaze Of Goldenrod.

Great Loves, To The Last, Have Pulses Red; All Great Loves That Have Ever Died Dropped Dead.