“TELLING THE BEES”
I saw one go in the pale of the dawning,
In a fair May-time a-telling the bees,
Tapping the hive there she told of men dying,
Many a dear name she called to the breeze.
They are coming, the bees, for the time is in blossom;
They are coming, the bees, from the West, South, and East;
They hum “donas Sasan,” they hum “Sonas Eireann,
We gather the honey, prepare for the feast.”
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