There is a flower that Bees prefer— And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire— And Whatsoever Insect pass— A Honey bear away Proportioned to his several dearth And her—capacity— Her face be rounder than the Moon And ruddier than the Gown Or Orchis in the Pasture— Or Rhododendron—worn— She doth not wait for June— Before the World be Green— Her sturdy little Countenance Against the Wind—be seen— Contending with the Grass— Near Kinsman to Herself— For Privilege of Sod and Sun— Sweet Litigants for Life— And when the Hills be full— And newer fashions blow— Doth not retract a single spice For pang of jealousy— Her Public—be the Noon— Her Providence—the Sun— Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed— In sovereign—Swerveless Tune— The Bravest—of the Host— Surrendering—the last— Nor even of Defeat—aware— What cancelled by the Frost—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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