The Swarm 
then, our few hours over, to assume, with- 
out surprise and without regret, that other 
form which is the unconscious, the un- 
known, the slumbering, and the eternal ? 
21 
But we are forgetting the hive wherein the 
swarming bees have begun to lose patience, 
the hive whose black and vibrating waves 
are bubbling and overflowing, like a brazen 
cup beneath an ardent sun. It is noon, and 
the heat so great that the assembled trees 
would seem almost to hold back their leaves, 
as a man holds his breath before something 
very 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 the beautiful 
months; for events in which bees take part 
happen only when skies are pure, at the 
winsome hours of the year when flowers 
keep holiday. They are the soul of the 
summer, the clock whose dial records the 
moments of plenty; they are the untiring 
59 
