But it injured not the Bee in the least;
And she filled her pocket, and had a feast,
From the bloom of the purple Thistle.
The generous Thistle's life was spared
In the home where the Bee first found her,
Till she grew so old she was hoary-haired,
And her snow-white locks with the silk compared,
As they shone where the sun beamed round her.
FOOTNOTES: