SWARM
Ethereal energy, airy lust,
Intangible madness,—these have made
A bee-like cloud about her head.
Intangible madness,—these have made
A bee-like cloud about her head.
The coward, the coward is running home,
To hide herself in a bed of dust—
To huddle into an ugly bed.
Underground they can never come.
To hide herself in a bed of dust—
To huddle into an ugly bed.
Underground they can never come.
She broke and ate their honeycomb.
Over her belly the bees will hum.
Over her belly the bees will hum.
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