English Poems – Page 24

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• The Primrose

  Ask me why I send you here
  This sweet Infanta of the year?
  Ask me why I send to you …

  Robert Herrick

• The Funeral Rites of the Rose

  The Rose was sick and smiling died;
  And, being to be sanctified,
  About the bed there sighing stood …

  Robert Herrick

• A Meditation for his Mistress

  You are a tulip seen to-day,
  But, dearest, of so short a stay
  That where you grew scarce man can say. …

  Robert Herrick

• Delight in Disorder

  A SWEET disorder in the dress
  Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
  A lawn about the shoulders thrown …

  Robert Herrick

• The Bracelet: To Julia

  Why I tie about thy wrist,
  Julia, this silken twist;
  For what other reason is 't …

  Robert Herrick

• To Daisies, not to shut so soon

  Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
  Has not as yet begun
  To make a seizure on the light, …

  Robert Herrick

• The Night-piece: To Julia

  Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
  The shooting stars attend thee;
  And the elves also, …

  Robert Herrick

• To Music, to becalm his Fever

  Charm me asleep, and melt me so
  With thy delicious numbers,
  That, being ravish'd, hence I go …

  Robert Herrick

• To Dianeme

  Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
  Which starlike sparkle in their skies;
  Nor be you proud that you can see …

  Robert Herrick

• To Oenone

  What conscience, say, is it in thee,
  When I a heart had one,
  To take away that heart from me, …

  Robert Herrick

• The Mad Maid's Song

  Good-morrow to the day so fair,
  Good-morning, sir, to you;
  Good-morrow to mine own torn hair …

  Robert Herrick

• Comfort to a Youth that had lost his Love

  What needs complaints,
  When she a place
  Has with the race …

  Robert Herrick

• To Meadows

  Ye have been fresh and green,
  Ye have been fill'd with flowers,
  And ye the walks have been …

  Robert Herrick

• A Child's Grace

  Here a little child I stand
  Heaving up my either hand;
  Cold as paddocks though they be, …

  Robert Herrick

• Epitaph

  Here she lies, a pretty bud,
  Lately made of flesh and blood:
  Who as soon fell fast asleep …

  Robert Herrick

• Another

  Here a pretty baby lies
  Sung asleep with lullabies:
  Pray be silent and not stir …

  Robert Herrick

• His Winding-sheet

  Come thou, who are the wine and wit
  Of all I've writ:
  The grace, the glory, and the best …

  Robert Herrick

• Litany to the Holy Spirit

  In the hour of my distress,
  When temptations me oppress,
  And when I my sins confess, …

  Robert Herrick

• Respice Finem

  My soul, sit thou a patient looker-on;
  Judge not the play before the play is done:
  Her plot hath many changes; every day …

  Francis Quarles

• A Contemplation upon Flowers

  Brave flowers—that I could gallant it like you,
  And be as little vain!
  You come abroad, and make a harmless show, …

  Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

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