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, 
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