Touching the clover bloom and then the rose;
An easy prey, the clover blossom yields
Its treasures garnered from the fragrant fields;
But all the sweetness that the rose adorns,
Protected is from theft by jealous thorns.
The Bee, ergo, in quest the flowers among,
Gets sometimes honey and gets sometimes stung.
[WHITMANESQUE]
The snow is falling on the hemlock boughs:
Courage, Comrade, Spring will come again!