Robert Herrick

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

The stars of the night Will lend thee their light Like tapers clear without number.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;

But if that golden age would come again, And Charles here rule, as he before did reign; ... I should delight to have my curls half drown'd In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd; And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead, Knock at a …

Let's live with that small pittance that we have; Who covets more, is evermore a slave.

Who with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment.

He who has suffered shipwreck fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

I do love I know not what, Sometimes this and sometimes that.

Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they playèd at Bo-Peep, Did soon draw in again.

Like to These garden-glories, which here be The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past But you may stay yet here a while, To blush and gently smile, And go at last.

The body sins not, 'tis the will That makes the action, good or ill.

Here a solemn fast we keep, While all beauty lies asleep Hush'd be all things—no noise here— But the toning of a tear: Or a sigh of such as bring Cowslips for her covering.

No marigolds yet closèd are, No shadows great appear.

For pity, sir, find out that bee Which bore my love away. I'll seek him in your bonnet brave, I'll seek him in your eyes.

Good-morrow to the day so fair, Good-morning, sir, to you; Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew.

Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot or not, to be content with all.

Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day; But by their flight I never can divine When I shall couple with my valentine.

Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.

It is an active flame that flies, First, to the babies of the eyes.

Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early rising sun Has not attain'd his noon. ... Stay, stay, Until the hasting day

Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood: Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her.

If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right; It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.

Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute; But let that speak, the client gets the suit.