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, )
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove enough to sting.