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 man's 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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