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Observations placeholder

Sheridan - The flower



Type of Spiritual Experience


Richard Brinsley Butler Sheridan (30 October 1751 – 7 July 1816) was an Irish playwright and poet and long-term owner of the London Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. He is known for his plays such as The Rivals, The School for Scandal and A Trip to Scarborough. He was buried at Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey.

A description of the experience

The flower [Adapted from a poem by Sheridan]

In shady lane by leafy grove
Not normally the scene of love
Said I (unclothed) at that late hour
‘Observe your sweet soft trouser flower’

‘How small upon its stalk it stands
And tempts my rather impatient hands
Whilst the soft bud, as yet unspread
Hangs down its pale declining head
Yet soon as it is ripe to blow
The stem will rise and head will glow’

‘Nature’ you said ‘my sweetheart true
‘To all her followers lends a clue.
This blushing strong triumphant flower
Is at the utmost of its power
But shortly, with your help, its reign
Will end and it will drop again
Its seed will shed upon the seat
Upon the floor and at my feet
But words my love are far too weak
As proof, let this example speak’

Then into the hands of this wondering maid
The tree of life you gently laid
‘Observe sweet love, the drooping head
How pale, how languid, and how dead
But let the dew of your soft hand
Refresh the stem, it straight shall stand
Already see, it swells, it grows
Its head is redder than a rose
Its shrivelled fruit of dusky hue
Now glows – and all because of you
The balm of life each artery fills
And in each sticky drop distills’

‘Oh my’ said I ‘But what is this?
What strange tumultuous throbs of bliss
I’m sure no mortal until this hour
Felt such emotion at a flower
Oh serpent, cunning to deceive
This is the tree that tempted Eve
The crimson apples hang so fair
I can’t resist the temptation there’
‘Well, have you guessed my love’ you cried
‘This is the tree by which she died
Yet let us still poor Eve forgive
It is the tree by which we live
And for all women still it grows
And from its centre gently blows
But just for you this tree tall stands
For paradise is in your hands’

You ceased, for nature kindly here
Began to whisper in your ear
And lovely you sat gently panting
Whilst my soft hands were doing the planting
Till in the heat of amorous strife
I burst the wondrous tree of life
The little seeds flowed from the tree
White, sticky over hands and me
‘Oh heaven’ you cried and with a sigh
That little flower began to die
I bent down for one parting kiss
To tell my love it died for bliss
The tree it seemed to then draw breath
Oh, who would live, if this be death

The source of the experience

Poet other

Concepts, symbols and science items


Science Items

Activities and commonsteps



Making love