The Life of the Bee 
the myriad transparent furious wings weave 
a tissue throbbing with sound. And this 
for some moments will quiver right over 
the hive, with prodigious rustle of gossamer 
silks that countless electrified hands might 
be ceaselessly rending and stitching ; it floats 
undulating, it trembles and flutters, like a 
veil of gladness invisible fingers support 
in the sky, and wave to and fro, from the 
flowers to the blue, expecting sublime ad- 
vent or departure. And at last one angle 
declines, another is lifted ; the radiant mantle 
unites its four sunlit corners; and, like the 
wonderful carpet the fairy-tale speaks of 
that flits across space to obey its master’s 
command, it steers its straight course, bend- 
ing forward a little as though to hide in 
its folds the sacred presence of the future, 
‘towards the willow, the pear-tree, or lime 
whereon the queen has alighted; and round 
her each rhythmical wave comes to rest, as 
though on a nail of gold, and suspends its 
fabric of pearls and of luminous wings. 
And then there is silence once more; 
and, in an instant, this mighty tumult, 
this awful curtain apparently laden with 
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