Flint and Feather

by Emily Pauline Johnson


 

THE HOMING BEE


 

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,
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        Tissue-winged, like the mist
That broods where the marshes melt into a line
        Of vapour sun-kissed.

You are laden with sweets, brother of mine,
        Flower sweets, like the touch
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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
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        For others, your gold. [Page 146]