For honey some prefer the bee,
But that is not the kind for me;
Though I admit the bee is fine
When working in the honey line,
And none denies the product's sweet
With tea, and cakes, and bread to eat.

The drop of syrup from the rose,
The sweets the heliotropes disclose,
The luscious drafts from hollyhocks,
From lilac and the golden phlox,
From honeysuckle, violet—
Ambrosial all—and yet—and yet—

When radiant Chloe casts her eye
On me with glances soft and shy,
And then, when no one's near to see,
Turns quickly and—well, kisses me—
No floral sweet the Queen Bee sips
Compares with that of Chloe's lips.