Robert Herrick 1591–1674 The Bad Season Makes the Poet Sad Dull to myself, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since everything Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the land to th’ heart, and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desp’rate cure…. [Read More]
Robert Herrick 1591–1674 The White Island, or Place of the Blest In this world, the isle of dreams, While we sit by sorrow’s streams, Tears and terrors are our themes Reciting: But when once from hence we fly, More and more approaching nigh Unto young eternity, Uniting: In that whiter… [Read More]
Robert Herrick 1591–1674 His Prayer for Absolution For those my unbaptized rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word, That’s not inlaid with Thee, my Lord, Forgive me, God, and blot each line Out of my book, that is not Thine. But if, ‘mongst all, Thou find’st here one Worthy… [Read More]
Robert Herrick 1591–1674 Discontents in Devon More discontents I never had Since I was born, than here; Where I have been, and still am, sad, In this dull Devonshire. Yet justly too I must confess, I ne’er invented such Ennobled numbers for the press, Than where I loath’d so much.
Robert Herrick 1591–1674 Corinna’s going a Maying Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. See how Aurora throwes her faire Fresh-quilted colours through the aire: Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree. Each Flower has wept, and bow’d toward… [Read More]
Robert Herrick 1591–1674 Another Grace for a Child Here a little child I stand Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a benison to fall On our meat, and on us all. Amen.