Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

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.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

To Daffodils

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain’d his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray’d together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
Ne’er to be found again.

The Coming of Good Luck

So good luck came, and on my roof did light,
Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night:
Not all at once, but gently, as the tree
Are by the sunbeams tickled by degrees.

The Night Piece, to Julia

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o’-th’-Wisp mis-light thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there’s none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.

Then Julia let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silv’ry feet,
My soul I’ll pour into thee.

Upon Julia’s Clothes

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free
O how that glittering taketh me!

Corinna’s Going a Maying

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
                     See how Aurora throws her fair
                     Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
                     Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
                     The dew-bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east,
Above an hour since; yet you not drest,
                     Nay! not so much as out of bed?
                     When all the birds have matins said,
                     And sung their thankful hymns: ’tis sin,
                     Nay, profanation to keep in,
When as a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green;
                     And sweet as Flora. Take no care
                     For jewels for your gown, or hair:
                     Fear not; the leaves will strew
                     Gems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some Orient Pearls unwept:
                     Come, and receive them while the light
                     Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
                     And Titan on the eastern hill
                     Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
Few beads are best, when once we go a maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark
How each field turns a street; each street a park
                     Made green, and trimmed with trees: see how
                     Devotion gives each house a bough,
                     Or branch: each porch, each door, ere this,
                     An ark a tabernacle is
Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
                     Can such delights be in the street,
                     And open fields, and we not see’t?
                     Come, we’ll abroad; and let’s obey
                     The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But my Corinna, come, let’s go a maying.

There’s not a budding boy, or girle, this day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
                     A deal of youth, ere this, is come
                     Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
                     Some have dispatched their cakes and cream,
                     Before that we have left to dream:
And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
                     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:
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pickt, yet w’are not a maying.

Come, let us go, while we are in our prime;
And take the harmless folly of the time.
                     We shall grow old apace, and die
                     Before we know our liberty.
                     Our life is short; and our days run
                     As fast away as does the sun:
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne’r be found again:
                     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.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying;
Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a maying.