Retained the bee's sting with the honey.
Its eye was blue, its head was cold,
Its round neck white as lilied chalice;
In short, a thing of faultless mould,
Fit for a maiden empress' palace.
So round and round—I knew no better—
I fluttered, nearer to the heat;
Methought I saw an offered letter—
Now I but see my winding-sheet.
Some pearly drops fell, as for grief—-