In my back yard did noble queen
A splendid royal palace build:
Where flows a golden river, then
Through corridors untrod by men
Down to her chamber spilled.
So fifty thousand humble slaves
With wax construct these endless caves;
And in my back yard, flush with alfresco rooms,
Where grows a green host of lush fruit laden hands;
And herbaceous borders of fragrant blooms,
Enfolding this idle of secret lands.
But oh! This resplendent wax fortress that hung
Down from the old eaves of our lazy front stoop!
A spot where the late evening sun had just sprung
As heard on the hour, the peel of church bells rang
By local campanologists, in a loop!
And then from this place with eternal thrumming,
As if corridors by themselves were humming,
A tidal wave of black and yellow coursed:
Amid this flow of raging insects burst
Huge columns made of tiny little clones,
Or should I say, of angry looking drones:
And in their minds, the colony as ever,
It's only thought, protect the golden river.
Five times a thousand maddened little honey bees
Through our veranda circled once again,
Then back to corridors, untrod by men,
And disappeared there inside, where no one sees.
And when at last, they all had gone I saw
Ancestral mansions finished years before!
The many splendid most regal homes,
Floated there among the beams
Where full of dripping honey combs,
From the golden rivers' streams.
It came to be written in my “to be” list
A splendid most regal apiarist.
(I hope this has fixed most of the broken meter. I separated the meter changes although Coleridge has this lot as only 2 stanzas. I also managed to quiet most of that dreadful thrumming).
Coleridge's original
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
My Original
A quick advisory note to anyone with the stamina to brave this rather long offering. It is meant as a fun exercise I set myself after watching events in my garden the other day. A couple of lines came to mind, and before I knew it, I was scribbling away again. If anyone should find this just wrong, Wrong, WRONG, I do apologise, it was not meant to be offensive, just a bit of fun. I hope you enjoy it, but if not, then I will take it down. Mark xx
Hummage
In my back yard did noble queen
A splendid thrumming palace build:
Where flows a golden river, then
Through corridors untrod by men
Down to her chamber spilled.
So fifty thousand humble slaves
With wax construct these endless caves;
And in my garden flush with its many rooms,
Where grows a green host of lush fruit laden hands;
And nearby borders of delicate blooms,
Enfolding peaceful glades in secret lands.
But oh! The splendid thrumming palace which hung
Down from the gable of our lazy front stoop!
A quiet spot, where the evening sun had sprung
As upon the hour the peel of church bells rang
By local campanologists, in a loop!
And from the palace with eternal thrumming,
As though the corridors themselves were humming,
A tidal wave of black and yellow coursed:
Amid this flow of raging workers burst
Huge columns made of tiny little stones,
Or was it that of angry looking drones:
And in their mind the colony as ever
It's only thought, protect the golden river.
Five times a thousand maddened little bees
Through our veranda circled once again,
Then back to corridors untrod by men,
And disappeared inside where no one sees;
And when at last they all had gone I saw
Ancestral palaces built years before!
The splendid thrumming most regal homes,
Floated there among the beams
Where full of dripping honey combs,
From the golden rivers' streams.
It then was put upon my “to be” list,
A splendid regal thrumming apiarist.
Satacol
The content is generally sophisticated and appealing on more than one level. The bees and hive
