I stood where Love in brimming armfuls bore <br />Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit: <br />And round him ladies thronged in warm pursuit, <br />Fingered and lipped and proffered the strange store. <br />And from one hand the petal and the core <br />Savoured of sleep; and cluster and curled shoot <br />Seemed from another hand like shame's salute,— <br />Gifts that I felt my cheek was blushing for. <br />At last Love bade my Lady give the same: <br />And as I looked, the dew was light thereon; <br />And as I took them, at her touch they shone <br />With inmost heaven-hue of the heart of flame. <br />And then Love said: “Lo! when the hand is hers, <br />Follies of love are love's true ministers.”<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxiii-love-s-baubles/
