Poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The Honeysuckle

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. 

1. At Issue
2. The House of Life. Sonnet 89. The Trees of the Garden
3. The House of Life. Sonnet 27. Heart's Compass
4. The House of Life. Sonnet 32. Equal Troth
5. The House of Life. Sonnet 95. The Vase of Life

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