The Life of the Bee 



days that render it the storehouse of 

 summer's most precious jewels, underly- 

 ing the blissful journeys that knit it so 

 close to the flowers and to running water, 

 to the sky, to the peaceful abundance of 

 all that makes for beauty and happiness 

 — underlying all these exterior joys, there 

 reposes a sadness as deep as the eye of 

 man can behold. And we, who dimly 

 gaze on these things with our own blind 

 eyes, we know full well that it is not they 

 alone that we are striving to see, not 

 they alone that we cannot understand, 

 but that before us there lies a pitiable 

 form of the great power that quickens 

 us also. 



Sad let it be, as all things in nature are 

 sad, when our eyes rest too closely upon 

 them. And thus it ever shall be so long 

 as we know not her secret, know not even 

 whether secret truly there be. And should 

 we discover some day that there is no secret. 



