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The Dead Bee
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.