Robert Herrick Poems
Here we are all, by day; by night we're hurl'd
By dreams, each one into a several world.
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.