Upon Meg.

Meg yesterday was troubled with a pose,
Which, this night harden'd, sodders up her nose.

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

Lar's Portion And The Poet's Part.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Doctor Alabaster.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Reverence To Riches.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Music, To Becalm His Fever

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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

Upon Her Weeping.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench love's fire that there did glow.

Robert Herrick

Another Upon Her Weeping.

She by the river sat, and sitting there,
She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.

Robert Herrick

Upon A Blear-Ey'd Woman.

Wither'd with years, and bed-rid Mumma lies;
Dry-roasted all, but raw yet in her eyes.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

I fear no earthly powers,
But care for crowns of flowers;
And love to have my beard
With wine and oil besmear'd.
This day I'll drown all sorrow:
Who knows to live to-morrow?

Robert Herrick

Upon Himself.

I lately fri'd, but now behold
I freeze as fast, and shake for cold.
And in good faith I'd thought it strange
T' have found in me this sudden change;
But that I understood by dreams
These only were but Love's extremes;
Who fires with hope the lover's heart,
And starves with cold the self-same part.

Robert Herrick

The Ungentle Guest

One silent night of late,
When every creature rested,
Came one unto my gate,
And knocking, me molested.

Who's that, said I, beats there,
And troubles thus the sleepy?
Cast off; said he, all fear,
And let not locks thus keep ye.

For I a boy am, who
By moonless nights have swerved;
And all with showers wet through,
And e'en with cold half starved.

I pitiful arose,
And soon a taper lighted;
And did myself disclose
Unto the lad benighted.

I saw he had a bow,
And wings too, which did shiver;
And looking down below,
I spied he had a quiver.

I to my chimney's shine
Brought him, as Love professes,
And chafed his hands with mine,
And dried his dropping tresses.

But when he felt him warm'd,

Robert Herrick