To The Ladies.

Trust me, ladies, I will do
Nothing to distemper you;
If I any fret or vex,
Men they shall be, not your sex.

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 Violets

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Alms.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Dianeme

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon The Bishop Of Lincoln's Imprisonment.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Pidgin

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To A Gentlewoman On Just Dealing.

True to yourself and sheets, you'll have me swear;
You shall, if righteous dealing I find there.
Do not you fall through frailty; I'll be sure
To keep my bond still free from forfeiture.

Robert Herrick

To His Lovely Mistresses

One night i'th' year, my dearest Beauties, come,
And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb;
When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise,
And there to lick th' effused sacrifice,
Though paleness be the livery that I wear,
Look ye not wan or colourless for fear.
Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show
The least grim look, or cast a frown on you;
Nor shall the tapers, when I'm there, burn blue.
This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,
Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye;
Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I've lost
The world so soon, and in it, you the most:
Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall,
Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.

Robert Herrick

Upon His Kinswoman, Mistress Elizabeth Herrick.

Sweet virgin, that I do not set
The pillars up of weeping jet
Or mournful marble, let thy shade
Not wrathful seem, or fright the maid
Who hither at her wonted hours
Shall come to strew thy earth with flowers.
No; know, bless'd maid, when there's not one
Remainder left of brass or stone,
Thy living epitaph shall be,
Though lost in them, yet found in me;
Dear, in thy bed of roses then,
Till this world shall dissolve as men,
Sleep while we hide thee from the light,
Drawing thy curtains round: Good-night.

Robert Herrick

To Flowers.

In time of life I graced ye with my verse;
Do now your flowery honours to my hearse.
You shall not languish, trust me; virgins here
Weeping shall make ye flourish all the year.

Robert Herrick

To All Young Men That Love.

I could wish you all who love,
That ye could your thoughts remove
From your mistresses, and be
Wisely wanton, like to me,
I could wish you dispossessed
Of that fiend that mars your rest,
And with tapers comes to fright
Your weak senses in the night.
I could wish ye all who fry
Cold as ice, or cool as I;
But if flames best like ye, then,
Much good do 't ye, gentlemen.
I a merry heart will keep,
While you wring your hands and weep.

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