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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - The Honeysuckle
Work rating: Medium

I PLUCKED a honeysuckle where 
            The hedge on high is quick with thorn, 
            And climbing for the prize, was torn, 
       And fouled my feet in quag-water; 
            And by the thorns and by the wind 
            The blossom that I took was thinn`d, 
       And yet I found it sweet and fair. 
       Thence to a richer growth I came, 
            Where, nursed in mellow intercourse, 
        The honeysuckles sprang by scores, 
       Not harried like my single stem, 
            All virgin lamps of scent and dew. 
            So from my hand that first I threw, 
       Yet plucked not any more of them.
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