THE SWARM 

 which is the unconscious, the unknown, 

 the slumbering, and the eternal? 





But we are forgetting the hive wherein 

 the sw^nning bees have begun to lose 

 patience, the hive whose black and vi- 

 brating waves are bubbling and overflow- 

 ing, like a brazen cup beneath an ardent 

 sun. It is noon ; and the heat so great 

 that the assembled trees would seem al- 

 most to hold back tiieir leaves, as a man 

 holds his breath before something \'ers' 

 tender but very grave. The bees give 

 their honey and sweet-smelling wax to 

 the man who attends them; but more 

 precious gift still is their summoning him 

 to the gladness of June, to the joy of 

 [43] 



