Robert Herrick

(1591-1674 / London / England)

Robert Herrick Poems

281. A Christmas Carol, Sung To The King In The Presence At White-Hall 1/3/2003
282. No Fault In Women 12/31/2002
283. A Hymn To Venus And Cupid 12/31/2002
284. Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast 1/13/2003
285. Delight In Disorder 12/31/2002
286. A Child's Grace 1/4/2003
287. A Hymn To Love 12/31/2002
288. To Daffodils 12/31/2002
289. Dreams 12/31/2002
290. To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Robert Herrick

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.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.

- Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Read the full of To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time

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.

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