Here is one, I posted a while back, which has one of my favorite images in all of poetry:
I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a beehive here in my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.Today I came across many. Here is one from Tennyson's The Princess:
The moan of doves in immemorial elmsI think I'm going to work on an anthology full of poems referring in some ways to bees.
And murmurings of innumerable bees.