THE HOMING BEE

By E. Pauline Johnson

You are belted with gold, little brother of mine,

Yellow gold, like the sun

That spills in the west, as a chalice of wine

When feasting is done.

You are gossamer-winged, little brother of mine,

Tissue winged, like the mist

That broods where the marshes melt into a line

Of vapour sun-kissed.

You are laden with sweets, little brother of mine,

Flower sweets, like the touch

Of hands we have longed for, of arms that entwine,

Of lips that love much.

You are better than I, little brother of mine,

Than I, human-souled,

For you bring from the blossoms and red summer shine,

For others, your gold.