Robert Herrick

(1591-1674 / London / England)

To Robin Red-Breast - Poem by Robert Herrick

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!


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Read poems about / on: work, red



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002



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