Explore "Sonnet" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee / That goes forth through the summer day and sings. / And gathers honey from all growing things / In garden plot or on the clover lea.
When the long afternoon grows late, and she / Would seek her hive, she cannot lift her wings. / So heavily the too sweet bin den clings, / From which she would not, and yet would, fly free.
So with my full, fond heart; for when it tries / To lift itself to peace crowned heights, above / The common way where countless feet have trod, / Lo! then, this burden of dear human ties, / This growing weight of precious earthly love, / Binds down the spirit that would soar to God.