Robert Herrick Poems
|281.||A Lyric To Mirth||1/3/2003|
|282.||A Hymn To Venus And Cupid||12/31/2002|
|283.||A Vow To Venus||12/31/2002|
|284.||Delight In Disorder||12/31/2002|
|285.||Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast||1/13/2003|
|286.||A Child's Grace||1/4/2003|
|288.||A Hymn To Love||12/31/2002|
|290.||To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time||12/31/2002|
Comments about 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.
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.