a thought like a flower upon my 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 warf 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!

— J.C