This apple-tree, that once was green,
  Is now a thousand flowers in one!
And, with their bags strapped to their thighs,
  There's many a bee that comes for sweets,
To stretch each bag to its full size.

And when the night has grown a moon,
  And I lie half-asleep in bed,
I hear those bees again - ah no,
  It is the birds of steel, instead,
Seeking their innocent prey below.

Man-ridden birds of steel, unseen,
  That come to drop their murdering lime
On any child or harmless thing
  Before the early morning time:
Up, nearer to God, they fly and sing.