Drone

GAY burly beau, his life is summer only.
He lives in riot-time of green, — jeweled summer
When golden odors rise from swamp and meadow
Of mint and clethra. O the lime’s gold shadow
Falls on a world all one warm smell of honey
To this rich brummel in his banded gold!

He wings through mornings flower-sweet and gold,
Fit-as-a-fiddle velvet boy, fit only
To buzz in lazy joy and suck the honey
From honeysuckle swags, — gold bells of summer
That chime so richly in the swamp’s warm shadow
With clover-balls of sweetness in the meadow.

And he’s the booming fop of the clover meadow,
A swaggerer in velvet, boy of gold,
Upon whose useless head there falls no shadow
Of humming work: such haunts the virgins only,
Those fierce nuns who carry off the summer
To opulent cloisters dark with thrifty honey.

The warm days hum with their brisk song of honey,
Pure, hurried maidens in the lazy meadow.
Their work will seal away the happy summer
When riotous fields are wasted of their gold.
Proud amazons, their little hearts feel only
Scorn for the drone whose riches know no shadow.

Gourmand of grapes, the wild vine wears his shadow,
Rose and raspberry tangles cup him honey.
He thinks the goldenrod’s sweet waters only
Distill for his delight and jewel the meadow!
He rinses his wings in odors rich as gold,
His heart is humming a song of always-summer.

But when October cools the golden summer
On the poor clown falls the relentless shadow
Of thrifty virgin wings. O his splendid gold
Does not protect him from those nuns of honey!
He lumbers, stung to death, to the dark meadow
Where once he knew green days and riches only.

The swaggerer in gold lays on the meadow
His jeweled heart whose only song was summer;
And on him honey-dark falls the hive’s shadow.