The red-bagged bee on never weary wingPipe's his small trumpet round the early flowers
& the white nettles by the hedge in spring
Hears his low music all the sunny hours
Till clouds come on & leaves the falling showers
Herald of spring & music of wild blooms
It seems the minstrel of spring’s early flowers
On banks where the red nettle flowers it comes
& there all the long sunny morning hums
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