Robert Herrick Poems

When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;
And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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Open thy gates
To him who weeping waits,
And might come in,
But that held back by sin.
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Virgins promised when I died,
That they would each primrose-tide
Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.
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I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile;
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.
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Be my mistress short or tall
And distorted therewithall
Be she likewise one of those
That an acre hath of nose
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For brave comportment, wit without offence,
Words fully flowing, yet of influence:
Thou art that man of men, the man alone,
Worthy the public admiration:
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Go, happy Rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my Love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
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From the dull confines of the drooping west,
To see the day spring from the pregnant east,
Ravish'd in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly
To thee, blest place of my nativity!
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Make haste away, and let one be
A friendly patron unto thee;
Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lie
Torn for the use of pastery;
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Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
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