The shower of blossoms

Love in a shower of blossoms came

Down, and half drown'd me with the same:

The blooms that fell were white and red;

But with such sweets comminglèd,

As whether, this, I cannot tell

My sight was pleas'd 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.