To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

His labor is a chant, His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of noon!

I love everything that makes up a milieu, the rolling of the carriages and the noise of the workmen in Paris, the cries of a thousand birds in the country, the movement of the ships on the waters. I love also absolute, profound silence, and, in short, I love everything that is around me, no matter where I am.

Ample make this bed. / Make this bed with awe; / In it wait till judgement break / Excellent and fair.