Robert Herrick

Of all our parts, the eyes express The sweetest kind of bashfulness.

Each must in virtue strive for to excel; That man lives twice that lives the first life well.

Then come on, come on and yield A savour like unto a blessed field When the bedabbled morn Washes the golden ears of corn.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress-tree; Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death, to die for thee. Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part

Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be, Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find,

Roses at first were white, Till they could not agree, Whether my Sappho's breast Or they more white should be.But, being vanquish'd quite, A blush their cheeks bespread; Since which, believe the rest,

God doth not promise here to man that He Will free him quickly from his misery; But in His own time, and when He thinks fit, Then He will give a happy end to it.

Before man's fall the rose was born, St. Ambrose says, without the thorn; But for man's fault then was the thorn Without the fragrant rose-bud born; But ne'er the rose without the thorn.

Thou art a plant sprung up to wither never, But like a laurel to grow green for ever.

Go, happy rose, and interwove With other flowers, bind my love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me.

Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden showers Which, by the peep of day, do strew A baptism o’er the flowers.

What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.

O time that cut'st down all And scarce leav'st here Memorial Of any men that were.

Only a little more I have to write, Then I'll give o'er, And bid the world good-night.

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 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.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying.

Welcome, maids-of-honour! You do bring In the spring, And wait upon her. ... Yet, though thus respected, By-and-by Ye do lie,

Soul of my life and fame! Eternal lamp of love! whose radiant flame Out-glares the heaven's Osiris, and thy gleams Out-shine the splendour of his mid-day beams.

Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night.

Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament.

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green.