Love in a showre of Blossomes came Down, and halfe drown'd me with the same: The Blooms that fell were white and red; But with such sweets commingled, As whether (this) I cannot tell My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell: But true it was, as I rowl'd there, Without a thought of hurt, or feare; Love turn'd himselfe into a Bee, And with his Javelin wounded me: From which mishap this use I make, Where most sweets are, there lyes a Snake. Kisses and Favours are sweet things; But Those have thorns, and These have stings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISION OF CONNAUGHT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN MAN, THE MAN-HUNTER by CARL SANDBURG HERO TO LEANDER by ALFRED TENNYSON A ROCKING HYMN by GEORGE WITHER ANCESTRESS by MARGUERITE JANVRIN ADAMS ADMIRAL, HAIL! by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD |