The Virgin Mary.

To work a wonder, God would have her shown
At once a bud and yet a rose full-blown.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

To Oenone.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon God.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

By Use Comes Easiness.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Gander. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Another. (Virgin Mary)

As sunbeams pierce the glass, and streaming in,
No crack or schism leave i' th' subtle skin:
So the Divine Hand worked and brake no thread,
But, in a mother, kept a maidenhead.

Robert Herrick

The Virgin Mary.

The Virgin Mary was, as I have read,
The House of God, by Christ inhabited;
Into the which He entered, but, the door
Once shut, was never to be open'd more.

Robert Herrick

To Mistress Mary Willand.

One more by thee, love, and desert have sent,
T' enspangle this expansive firmament.
O flame of beauty! come, appear, appear
A virgin taper, ever shining here.

Robert Herrick

On A Plant Of Virgins Bower. Designed To Cover A Garden-Seat.

Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,
And deck with many a splendid flower,
Thy foliage large and free.


Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade
(If truly I divine)
Some future day the illustrious head
Of him who made thee mine.


Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And envy seize the bay,
Affirming none so fit to crown
Such honourd brows as they,


Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing power;
For why should not the virgins friend
Be crownd with virgins bower?

William Cowper

The Rosary

One asked me where the roses grew:
I bade him not go seek,
But forwith bade my Julia show
A bud in either cheek.

Robert Herrick

Upon A Virgin Kissing A Rose.

'Twas but a single rose,
Till you on it did breathe;
But since, methinks, it shows
Not so much rose as wreath.

Robert Herrick