Fall 1961 • Vol. XXIII No. 4 Poetry |

Next Time I Shall Not Burn the Beehive

Next time I shall not burn the beehive Where in hexagonal cells the city's future, Divided already into golden bodies, Prepared for entrance into a cosmos Of calyxes and summery airs— Nor, before, let loose under the eaves The skillful, poisonous vapor smelling of naphtha. At the first spurt of the gas, despite the netting, Two frightened members of the commonwealth Launched themselves past my ears. I jumped from the ladder, waited, soon returnedTo give them the long-enduring stroke of grace. Later, having ripped the hive away And placed it on the ground some distance off, When I poured the gasoline upon it I saw Things with closed wings straining to get out.

Already have an account? Log in

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Low

By Thomas Whitbread

Next time I shall not burn the beehive Where in hexagonal cells the city's future, Divided already into golden bodies, Prepared for entrance into a cosmos Of calyxes and summery […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.