Poems (Barrett)/Pain in Pleasure
PAIN IN PLEASURE.
A thought lay 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,) Four best and gladdest thoughts but long enough, And they will all prove sad enough to sting.