(Cleanings 



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■. i tji t3 i&£ie h u s e 1 1» 



OCT C- 1922 



-A i>^f ioulti.iral 



^ee Culture 



THE FAREWELL SONG OF THE BEE. 



Furewell. said the bee to the flower. 



As she hung in its golden heart; 

 Kull nnany a happy hour 



We have spent, but now must part 



For the days are growing colder, 

 And the nights come earlier now; 



And the year is growing older, 

 Soon snow will whiten his brow. 



ft hrenks my heart to leave you. 



To know your beauty will fade; 

 That winter's cold grave will receive you, 



So lovely, so richly arrayed. 



But there is one thought that is cheering, 



That will bring you some comfort, my dear; 



In the seed-children you are rearing. 

 You'll blossom again next year. 



Then listen once more to my humming. 



Alas, my love, 'tis the last; 

 r shiver — a frost is coming, 



And summer — sweet summer is past. 



LAURA M GREGG. 



VOLUME L 



OCTOBER, 1922 



NUMBER 10 



