English Lyric Poet and Cleric
English Lyric Poet and Cleric
And when I shall meet, thy silv'ry feet my soul I'll pour into thee.
Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime; and take the harmlesse follie of the time. We shall grow old apace, and die before we know our liberty. Our life is short; and our dayes run as fast away as do?s the Sunne; and as a vapour, or a drop of raine once lost, can ne?r be found againe: so when or you or I are made a fable, song, or fleeting shade; all love, all liking, all delight lies drown?d with us in endlesse night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; come, my Corinna, come, let?s goe a Maying.
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower unto thy little Saviour; and tell Him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known.
Here she lies a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood; Who, as soone fell fast asleep, As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her.
It is an active flame that flies First to the babies in the eyes.
Maybe this world is another planet's hell.
'Oor the warm soft side of the resigning yet resisting bride. The kiss of virgins first-fruits of the bed; soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead; these and a thousand sweets could never be so near or dear as thou wast once to me.
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!'
Thou art a plant sprung up to wither never, But, like a laurell, to grow green forever.
We credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust farre more than ten eare-witnesses.
Where we such clusters had, as made us nobly wild, not mad; and yet each verse of thine outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
And with our broth, and bread, and bits; Sir friend, You've fared well: pray make an end; Two days you've larded here; a third, ye know, Makes guests and fish smell strong; pray go, You to some other chimney.
Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
God doth not promise here to man that He will free him quickly from his misery; but in His own time, and when He thinks fit, then He will give a happy end to it.
Here we are all, by day; by night we are hurled by dreams, each one into a several world.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
Methought her long, small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise; her belly, buttocks, and her waist by my soft nervelets were embraced;
Or a sigh of such as bring cowslips for her covering.
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes which starlike sparkle in their skies; nor be you proud that you can see all hearts your captives, yours yet free.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me: and hast command of every part to live and die for thee.
We die, as your hours do, and dry away, like to the summer's rain; or as the pearls of morning's dew.
Who after his transgression doth repent, Is halfe, or altogether, innocent.
And, chiding me, said, 'Hence, remove, Herrick, thou art too coarse to love.'
Dean-bourn, farewell; I never look to see MIDeane, or thy warty incivility. Thy rockie bottome, that doth teare thy streams, and makes them frantick, ev?n to all extreames; to my content, I never sho?d behold, were thy streames silver, or thy rocks all gold. Clearly, more than a river is on the poet?s mind: Rockie thou art; and rockie we discover thy men; and rockie are thy wayes all over. O men, O manners; Now, and ever knowne to be A Rockie Generation! A people currish; churlish as the seas; and rude (almost) as rudest Salvages. With whom I did, and may re-sojourne when Rockes turn to Rivers, Rivers turn to Men.
Happy Rusticks, best content with the cheapest Merriment: and possesse no other feare, then to want the Wake next Yeare.