But such is not really the case.

Nearly every English poet makes some reference to bees, as Tennyson does in the famous couplet-- The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
But the only really remarkable poem addressed to a bee is by the American philosopher Emerson.

The poem in question can not be compared as to mere workmanship with some others which I have cited; but as to thinking, it is very interesting, and you must remember that the philosopher who writes poetry should be judged for his thought rather than for the measure of his verse.

The whole is not equally good, nor is it short enough to quote entire; I shall only give the best parts.
Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me.
* * * * * Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines.
Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion! Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon; Epicurean of June; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum,-- All without is martyrdom.
* * * * * Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass.
* * * * * Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen; * * * * * Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
This is really the poetry of the bee--visiting only beautiful flowers, and sucking from them their perfumed juices--always healthy, happy, and surrounded by beautiful things.

A great rover, a constant wanderer is the bee--visiting many different places, seeing many different things, but stopping only to enjoy what is beautiful to the sight and sweet to the taste.