Biography of Robert Herrick
Clergyman and poet, Robert Herrick was born in London, the seventh child of Nicholas Herrick, a wealthy goldsmith. In November 1592, two days after making a will, his father killed himself by jumping from the fourth-floor window of his house. However, the Queen's Almoner did not confiscate the Herrick estate for the crown as was usually the case with suicides. There is no record of Herrick attending school. In 1607 he was apprenticed to his uncle Sir William Herrick as a goldsmith.
'A Country Life: To his Brother M. Tho. Herrick' (1610) is Herrick's earliest known poem, and deals with the move from London to farm life in Leicestershire. 'To My Dearest Sister M. Merice Herrick' was written before 1612. He entered St John's College, Cambridge in 1613, and became friends with Clipsby Crew to whom he addressed several poems such as 'Nuptial Song'. He graduated a Bachelor of Arts in 1617, Master of Arts in 1620, and in 1623 he was ordained priest. By 1625 he was well known as a poet, mixing in literary circles in London such as that of Ben Jonson. In 1629 he was presented by Charles I to the living of Dean Prior, a remote parish of Devonshire. The best of his work was written in the peace and seclusion of country life; 'To Blossoms' and 'To Daffodils' are classical depictions of a devoted appreciation of nature.
However, having refused to subscribe to The Solemn League and Covenant, he was ejected from Devonshire in 1647. He then returned to London publishing his religious poems Noble Numbers (1647), and Hesperides (1648). He was distinguished as a lyric poet, and some of his love songs, for example, 'To Anthea' and 'Gather Ye Rose-buds' are considered exceptional . In 1660 he was reinstated at Dean Prior where he lived for the remainder of his life. He wrote no more poems after 1648, and is buried in an unmarked grave in the churchyard at Dean Prior.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Robert Herrick; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Robert Herrick Poems
To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.
Here we are all, by day; by night we're hurl'd By dreams, each one into a several world.
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain'd his noon.
A Child's Grace
HERE a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee,
A Hymn To Love
I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, That, let her lay
Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast
Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed?
Delight In Disorder
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction;
A Hymn To Venus And Cupid
Sea-born goddess, let me be By thy son thus graced, and thee, That whene'er I woo, I find Virgins coy, but not unkind.
No Fault In Women
No fault in women, to refuse The offer which they most would chuse. - No fault: in women, to confess How tedious they are in their dress;
A Lyric To Mirth
While the milder fates consent, Let's enjoy our merriment : Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ; Kiss our dollies night and day :
A Christmas Carol, Sung To The King In T...
Chorus. What sweeter music can we bring, Than a Carol, for to sing
The Kiss: A Dialogue
1 Among thy fancies, tell me this, What is the thing we call a kiss? 2 I shall resolve ye what it is:--
A Ring Presented To Julia
Julia, I bring To thee this Ring. Made for thy finger fit; To shew by this,
To Anthea, Who May Command Him Any Thing
Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.
The Mad Maid's Song
Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morning, sir, to you;
Good morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabbled with the dew.
Good morning to this primrose too;
Good morrow to each maid;
That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my Love is laid.