The nearest Dream recedes — unrealized —
The Heaven we chase,
Like the June Bee — before the School Boy,
Invites the Race —
Stoops — to an easy Clover —
Dips — evades — teases — deploys —
Then — to the Royal Clouds
Lifts his light Pinnace —
Heedless of the Boy —
Staring — bewildered — at the mocking sky —
Homesick for steadfast Honey —
Ah, the Bee flies not
That brews that rare variety!
Dreams (and Heaven) are like bees, a tricky prize that is hard to catch hold of.
I don’t know if I make any sense, but this poem has a lot of meaning but you have to look down deep to find the meaning.
You suggest a lot, but say very little …