Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

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! 

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
2. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
4. To Flush, My Dog
5. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 11. And therefore if to love can be desert

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