The funeral of an ant
To the kindly La Fontaine

The ants are in a stir profound:
For the nest’s heart, its queen, is dead!
Low through an ancient entrance fed,
Under an oak, the strong is bound.

The wind gnaws on the icy ground
The escort’s long and fragile thread.
The ants are in a stir profound:
For the nest’s heart, its queen, is dead!

A small vague speck that they surround
Slides, trailing where the strongest tread:
It is the hearse-borne corpse being led
Off to the royal vault renowned.
The ants are in a stir profound!