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Poems
Telling The Bees
(January 9, 1856 – December 17, 1935 / Waverly)

Telling The Bees

Poem By Lizette Woodworth Reese

A Colonial Custom

Bathsheba came out to the sun,
Out to our wallèd cherry-trees;
The tears adown her cheek did run,
Bathsheba standing in the sun,
Telling the bees.

My mother had that moment died;
Unknowing, sped I to the trees,
And plucked Bathsheba’s hand aside;
Then caught the name that there she cried
Telling the bees.

Her look I never can forget,
I that held sobbing to her knees;
The cherry-boughs above us met;
I think I see Bathsheba yet
Telling the bees.

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Comments (2)

Wonderful poem with nice rhyming and a touching story. Thanks for sharing.
This must be a custom I have not yet heard of. An interesting poem though.


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