1 There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire

5 Her face is rounder than the moon,
And reddish like the gown
Of orchids in the pasture,
Of other flowers worn.

She does not wait for June;
10 Before the world is green
Her sturdy little expression
Against the wind is seen,

Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
15 For privilege of soil and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.

And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Does not retract a single spice
20 For pang of jealousy.

Her public is the noon,
Her protector is the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, unchanging tune.

25 The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.
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