Touch

Sonnet XXVI


SWEET is the rose, but grows upon a briar;
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near;
Sweet is the fir-bloom, but his branch rough;
Sweet is the cypress, but his rind is tough;
     
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broom-flower, but yet sour enough;
And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
So every sweet with sour is tempered still,
That maketh it be coveted the more:

For easy things, that may be got at will,
Most sorts of men do set but little store.
  Why then should I account of little pain,
  That endless pleasure shall unto me gain!


 By Edmund Spenser



*Stumbled upon fragments of this poem during a recent visit to RBG, Kew *