For there is not a lie, spite of God’s high decree,
But has made its nest sure on some branch of our tree,
And has some vested right to exist in the land:
And many will have it the tree could not stand,
If the sticks, straws, and feathers, that sheltered the wrong,
Were swept from the boughs they have cumbered so long.
W. C. Smith (Borland Hall).
I shall be old and ugly one day, and I shall look for man’s chivalrous help, but I shall not find it. The bees are very attentive to the flowers till their honey is done, and then they fly over them.