And threatened was each honey cell.
So she spoke in a voice most persuasive—
“He shall sit on my throne for an hour,
Who brings from the store-house of nature,
The juice of the sweetest-lipped flower.”
Away flew the brown little workers,
Away out of sight o’er the hill;
Then backward and forward they flitted,
The honey-cups eager to fill.
One famished the heart of a lily,