Pain In Pleasure

A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart,

And drew around it other thoughts like bees

For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses;

Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art

Of the Greek whistler, who to wharf and mart

Could lure those insect swarms from orange-trees

That I might hive with me such thoughts and please

My soul so, always. foolish counterpart

Of a weak mans vain wishes ! While I spoke,

The thought I called a flower grew nettle-rough

The thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:

Oh, entertain (cried Reason as she woke)

Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,

And they will all prove sad enough to sting !

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