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. To Thomas Woolner
2. The House of Life. Sonnet 23. Love's Baubles
3. The House of Life. Sonnet 70. The Hill Summit
4. The House of Life. Sonnet 35. The Lamp's Shrine
5. The House of Life. Sonnet 32. Equal Troth

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