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The Murmuring of Innumerable Bees

The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

from “Come Down, O Maid” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The languid onomatopoeia of these lines of poetry have never ceased to fill me with the most glorious feeling of ease and warmth. One can imagine the delight of a summer’s afternoon, still early enough that time stretches before you, unhindered by worldly concerns. The distant drone of bees slips you into a luscious slumber,
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