The Wasps

The wasps are buzzing, the earth smells,
I love to hear then! when they buzz
The merchant; wasps that build their cells;
Their merchandise miraculous
They dig for, and those tiny things,
So voluble in their loveliness,
Who have for those that hale them, stings,
Garbed in a green and golden dress,
Rise from their City on their wings,
Beat with them bits of earth, compress
Desire into their daintiness.