Home > Work > Selected Poems
1 " BashfulnesseOf all our parts, the eyes expresseThe sweetest kind of bashfulnesse. "
BashfulnesseOf all our parts, the eyes expresseThe sweetest kind of bashfulnesse.
― Robert Herrick , Selected Poems
2 " Wantons we are, and though our words be suchOur lives do differ from our lines by much. "
3 " No pains. No gains "
4 " No pain. No gain "
5 " The Argument of his BookI sing of Brooks, of Blossomes, Birds, and Flowers:Of April, May, of June, and July-Flowers.I sing of May-poles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes,Of Bride-grooms, Brides, and of their Bridall-cakes.I write of Youth, of Love, and have AccesseBy these, to sing of cleanly-Wantonnesse.I sing of Dewes, of Raines, and piece by pieceOf Balme, of Oyle, of Spice, and Amber-Greece.I sing of Times trans-shifting; and I writeHow Roses first came Red, and Lillies White.I write of Groves, of Twilights, and I singThe Court of Mab, and of the Fairie-King.I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall)Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all. "
The Argument of his BookI sing of Brooks, of Blossomes, Birds, and Flowers:Of April, May, of June, and July-Flowers.I sing of May-poles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes,Of Bride-grooms, Brides, and of their Bridall-cakes.I write of Youth, of Love, and have AccesseBy these, to sing of cleanly-Wantonnesse.I sing of Dewes, of Raines, and piece by pieceOf Balme, of Oyle, of Spice, and Amber-Greece.I sing of Times trans-shifting; and I writeHow Roses first came Red, and Lillies White.I write of Groves, of Twilights, and I singThe Court of Mab, and of the Fairie-King.I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall)Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.
6 " The Lilly in a ChristalYou have beheld a smiling RoseWhen Virgins hands have drawnO’r it a Cobweb-Lawne:And here, you see, this Lilly shows,Tomb’d in a Christal stone,More faire in this transparent case,Then when it grew alone;And had but single grace.You see how Creame but naked is;Nor daunces in the eyeWithout a Strawberrie:Or some fine tincture, like to this,Which draws the sight thereto,More by that wantoning with it;Then when the paler hieuNo mixture did admit.You see how Amber through the streams More gently stroaks the sight,With some conceal’d delight;Then when he darts his radiant beamsInto the boundless aire:Where either too much light his worthDoth all at once impaire,Or set it little forth.Put Purple Grapes, or Cherries in-To Glasse, and they will sendMore beauty to commendThem, from that cleane and sbutile skin,Then if they naked stood,And had no other pride at all,But their own flesh and blood,And tinctures natural.Thus Lillie, Rose, Grape, Cherry, CreameAnd Straw-berry do stirMore love, when they transferA weak, a soft, a broken beame;Then if they sho’d discoverAt fulltheir proper excellence;Without some Scean cast over,To juggle with the sense.Thus let this Christal’d Lillie beA Rule, how far to teach,Your nakednesse must reach:And that, no further, then we seeThose glaring colours laidBy Arts wise hand, but to this endThey sho’d obey a shade;Lest they too far extend.So though y’are white as Swan, or Snow,And have the power to moveA world of men to love:Yet, when your Lawns & Silks shal flow;And that white cloud divideInto a doubtful Twi-light; then,Then will your hidden PrideRaise greater fires in men. "
The Lilly in a ChristalYou have beheld a smiling RoseWhen Virgins hands have drawnO’r it a Cobweb-Lawne:And here, you see, this Lilly shows,Tomb’d in a Christal stone,More faire in this transparent case,Then when it grew alone;And had but single grace.You see how Creame but naked is;Nor daunces in the eyeWithout a Strawberrie:Or some fine tincture, like to this,Which draws the sight thereto,More by that wantoning with it;Then when the paler hieuNo mixture did admit.You see how Amber through the streams More gently stroaks the sight,With some conceal’d delight;Then when he darts his radiant beamsInto the boundless aire:Where either too much light his worthDoth all at once impaire,Or set it little forth.Put Purple Grapes, or Cherries in-To Glasse, and they will sendMore beauty to commendThem, from that cleane and sbutile skin,Then if they naked stood,And had no other pride at all,But their own flesh and blood,And tinctures natural.Thus Lillie, Rose, Grape, Cherry, CreameAnd Straw-berry do stirMore love, when they transferA weak, a soft, a broken beame;Then if they sho’d discoverAt fulltheir proper excellence;Without some Scean cast over,To juggle with the sense.Thus let this Christal’d Lillie beA Rule, how far to teach,Your nakednesse must reach:And that, no further, then we seeThose glaring colours laidBy Arts wise hand, but to this endThey sho’d obey a shade;Lest they too far extend.So though y’are white as Swan, or Snow,And have the power to moveA world of men to love:Yet, when your Lawns & Silks shal flow;And that white cloud divideInto a doubtful Twi-light; then,Then will your hidden PrideRaise greater fires in men.
When Virgins hands have drawnO’r it a Cobweb-Lawne:
Tomb’d in a Christal stone,
Then when it grew alone;And had but single grace.
Nor daunces in the eyeWithout a Strawberrie:
Which draws the sight thereto,
Then when the paler hieuNo mixture did admit.
More gently stroaks the sight,With some conceal’d delight;
Into the boundless aire:
Doth all at once impaire,Or set it little forth.
To Glasse, and they will sendMore beauty to commend
Then if they naked stood,
But their own flesh and blood,And tinctures natural.
And Straw-berry do stirMore love, when they transfer
Then if they sho’d discover
Without some Scean cast over,To juggle with the sense.
A Rule, how far to teach,Your nakednesse must reach:
Those glaring colours laid
They sho’d obey a shade;Lest they too far extend.
And have the power to moveA world of men to love:
And that white cloud divide
Then will your hidden PrideRaise greater fires in men.
7 " The end of his workePart of the worke remaines; one part is past:And here my ship rides having Anchor cast. "
The end of his workePart of the worke remaines; one part is past:And here my ship rides having Anchor cast.
8 " To SycamoresI’m sick of Love; O let me lieUnder your shades, to sleep or die!Either is welcome; so I haveOr here my Bed, or here my Grave.Why do you sigh, and sob, and keepTime with the tears, that I do weep?Say, have ye sence, or do you proveWhat Crucifixions are in Love?I know ye do; and that’s the why,You sigh for Love, as well as I "
To SycamoresI’m sick of Love; O let me lieUnder your shades, to sleep or die!Either is welcome; so I haveOr here my Bed, or here my Grave.Why do you sigh, and sob, and keepTime with the tears, that I do weep?Say, have ye sence, or do you proveWhat Crucifixions are in Love?I know ye do; and that’s the why,You sigh for Love, as well as I
