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
!
