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Robert Herrick Poems

Found 283 poems by Robert Herrick .
[ Page 3 of 14 ]
Robert Herrick
A CANTICLE TO APOLLO
"Play, Phoebus, on thy lute,
And we will sit all mute;
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark! the God does play!
And as he leads the way
Through heaven, the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears!"
Robert Herrick
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Robert Herrick
UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES
"Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh"
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
WlT PUNISHED PROSPERS MOST
"Dread not the shackles; on with thine intent,
Good wits get more fame by their punishment."
Robert Herrick
Short
Robert Herrick
UPON HIS SISTER-IN-LAW, MISTRESS ELIZABETHHERRICK
"First, for effusions due unto the dead,
My solemn vows have here accomplished;
Next, how I love thee, that my grief must tell,
Wherein thou liv'st for ever.--Dear, farewell!"
Robert Herrick
Short
Robert Herrick
To his Girls
"Wanton wenches do not bring
For my hairs black colouring :
For my locks, girls, let 'em be
Grey or white, all's one to me."
Robert Herrick
Short
Robert Herrick
Upon Julia's Hair Filled With Dew
"Dew sat on Julia's hair,
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew.

Or glittered to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danced by the streams."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
A Thanksgiving to God for His House
"Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
An little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by'th' poor,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words, or meat;
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small;
A little butterie and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipp'd, unflay'd;
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that be
There plac'd by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glitt'ring hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spic'd to the brink.
Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land;
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one;
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year;
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream (for wine.)
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which, fir'd with incense, I resign
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ, by Thee."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT,SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD
"No news of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;
No closet plot or open vent,
That frights men with a Parliament:
No new device or late-found trick,
To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the State, or wring
The free-born nostril of the King,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;
That tells of winter's tales and mirth
That milk-maids make about the hearth;
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
That toss'd up, after Fox-i'-th'-hole;
Of Blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the Mare;
Of twelf-tide cakes, of pease and beans,
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,
And cry out, 'Hey for our town green!'--
Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streaks to chuse;
Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds;
Of these, and such like things, for shift,
We send instead of New-year's gift.
--Read then, and when your faces shine
With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,
Remember us in cups full crown'd,
And let our city-health go round,
Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not ten;
Until the fired chestnuts leap
For joy to see the fruits ye reap,
From the plump chalice and the cup
That tempts till it be tossed up.--
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers;
But think on these, that are t' appear,
As daughters to the instant year;
Sit crown'd with rose-buds, and carouse,
Till LIBER PATER twirls the house
About your ears, and lay upon
The year, your cares, that's fled and gone:
And let the russet swains the plough
And harrow hang up resting now;
And to the bag-pipe all address,
Till sleep takes place of weariness.
And thus throughout, with Christmas plays,
Frolic the full twelve holy-days."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
A NEW YEAR'S GIFT,SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD
"No news of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;
No closet plot or open vent,
That frights men with a Parliament:
No new device or late-found trick,
To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the State, or wring
The free-born nostril of the King,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;
That tells of winter's tales and mirth
That milk-maids make about the hearth;
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
That toss'd up, after Fox-i'-th'-hole;
Of Blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the Mare;
Of twelf-tide cakes, of pease and beans,
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,
And cry out, 'Hey for our town green!'--
Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use
Husbands and wives by streaks to chuse;
Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds
A plenteous harvest to your grounds;
Of these, and such like things, for shift,
We send instead of New-year's gift.
--Read then, and when your faces shine
With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,
Remember us in cups full crown'd,
And let our city-health go round,
Quite through the young maids and the men,
To the ninth number, if not ten;
Until the fired chestnuts leap
For joy to see the fruits ye reap,
From the plump chalice and the cup
That tempts till it be tossed up.--
Then as ye sit about your embers,
Call not to mind those fled Decembers;
But think on these, that are t' appear,
As daughters to the instant year;
Sit crown'd with rose-buds, and carouse,
Till LIBER PATER twirls the house
About your ears, and lay upon
The year, your cares, that's fled and gone:
And let the russet swains the plough
And harrow hang up resting now;
And to the bag-pipe all address,
Till sleep takes place of weariness.
And thus throughout, with Christmas plays,
Frolic the full twelve holy-days."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
Upon Parson Beanes
"Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week,
And on the seventh, he has his notes to seek.
Six days he hollows so much breath away
That on the seventh he can nor preach or pray."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
THE BRIDE-CAKE
"This day, my Julia, thou must make
For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:
Knead but the dough, and it will be
To paste of almonds turn'd by thee;
Or kiss it thou but once or twice,
And for the bride-cake there'll be spice."
Robert Herrick
Robert Herrick
A PASTORAL UPON THE BIRTH OF PRINCE CHARLES:PRESENTED TO THE KING, AND
"A PASTORAL UPON THE BIRTH OF PRINCE CHARLES:
PRESENTED TO THE KING, AND SET BY MR NIC. LANIERE

THE SPEAKERS: MIRTILLO, AMINTAS, AND AMARILLIS

AMIN. Good day, Mirtillo. MIRT. And to you no less;
And all fair signs lead on our shepherdess.
AMAR. With all white luck to you. MIRT. But say,
What news
Stirs in our sheep-walk? AMIN. None, save that my
ewes,
My wethers, lambs, and wanton kids are well,
Smooth, fair, and fat; none better I can tell:
Or that this day Menalchas keeps a feast
For his sheep-shearers. MIRT. True, these are the least.
But dear Amintas, and sweet Amarillis,
Rest but a while here by this bank of lilies;
And lend a gentle ear to one report
The country has. AMIN. From whence? AMAR. From
whence? MIRT. The Court.
Three days before the shutting-in of May,
(With whitest wool be ever crown'd that day!)
To all our joy, a sweet-faced child was born,
More tender than the childhood of the morn.
CHORUS:--Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and
sheep
Let lullaby the pretty prince asleep!
MIRT. And that his birth should be more singular,
At noon of day was seen a silver star,
Bright as the wise men's torch, which guided them
To God's sweet babe, when born at Bethlehem;
While golden angels, some have told to me,
Sung out his birth with heav'nly minstrelsy.
AMIN. O rare! But is't a trespass, if we three
Should wend along his baby-ship to see?
MIRT. Not so, not so. CHOR. But if it chance to prove
At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.
AMAR. But, dear Mirtillo, I have heard it told,
Those learned men brought incense, myrrh, and gold,
From countries far, with store of spices sweet,
And laid them down for offerings at his feet.
MIRT. 'Tis true, indeed; and each of us will bring
Unto our smiling and our blooming King,
A neat, though not so great an offering.
AMAR. A garland for my gift shall be,
Of flowers ne'er suck'd by th' thieving bee;
And all most sweet, yet all less sweet than he.
AMIN. And I will bear along with you
Leaves dropping down the honied dew,
With oaten pipes, as sweet, as new.
MIRT. And I a sheep-hook will bestow
To have his little King-ship know,
As he is Prince, he's Shepherd too.
CHOR. Come, let's away, and quickly let's be drest,
And quickly give:--the swiftest grace is best.
And when before him we have laid our treasures,
We'll bless the babe:--then back to country pleasures."
Robert Herrick
Birthday
Robert Herrick
UPON MAN
"Man is composed here of a twofold part;
The first of nature, and the next of art;
Art presupposes nature; nature, she
Prepares the way for man's docility."
Robert Herrick
Short

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