Beside me there is resting A great biography, That crumpled panorama — The history of the bee. A husk of ebon velvet, A powdering of gold, Lies, at the end, a bankrupt With honey still unsold. What an extensive failure! Sheriffs are in the air; Barrels of good wild honey, Nobody knows just where; Only a little bankrupt, Truly too tired to care.
The speaker has found a dead bee and, instead of simply mourning it, turns the little body into a financial disaster. Its life becomes a "great biography," its crumpled shape a "panorama," and its death a bankruptcy: the bee ends up with honey "still unsold," as though it were a failed businessman. The black velvet husk and the dusting of gold pollen look like the last assets of a ruined firm. Sheriffs hover in the air, ready to seize what's left, though the "barrels of good wild honey" have vanished and no one knows where.
The tone is playful, even mock-serious, yet it isn't cold. The phrase "extensive failure" is funny when applied to something so small, but the closing lines soften it: the bee is just "a little bankrupt, / Truly too tired to care." That last note feels gentle and a little sad. The joke gives way to sympathy for a worker who simply wore out.