The Shower Of Blossoms

Love in a shower of blossoms

Down, and half 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 pleased more, or my smell;

But true it was, as I roll'd there,

Without a thought of hurt or fear,

Love turn'd himself into a bee,

And with his javelin wounded me;—-From which mishap this use I make;

Where most sweets are, there lies a snake;

Kisses and favours are sweet things;

But those have thorns, and these have stings.