How Roses Came Red.

Roses at first were white,
Till they could not agree,
Whether my Sappho's breast
Or they more white should be.

But, being vanquish'd quite,
A blush their cheeks bespread;
Since which, believe the rest,
The roses first came red.

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

Lots To Be Liked.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Pain And Pleasure.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Christian Militant.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Mean Things Overcome Mighty.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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How Roses Came Red.

'Tis said, as Cupid danc'd among
The gods he down the nectar flung,
Which on the white rose being shed
Made it for ever after red.

Robert Herrick

Upon Roses

Under a lawn, than skies more clear,
Some ruffled Roses nestling were,
And snugging there, they seem'd to lie
As in a flowery nunnery;
They blush'd, and look'd more fresh than flowers
Quickened of late by pearly showers;
And all, because they were possest
But of the heat of Julia's breast,
Which, as a warm and moisten'd spring,
Gave them their ever-flourishing.

Robert Herrick

The Maiden-Blush.

So look the mornings when the sun
Paints them with fresh vermilion:
So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,
And apricots in youthful years:
So corals look more lovely red,
And rubies lately polished:
So purest diaper doth shine,
Stain'd by the beams of claret wine:
As Julia looks when she doth dress
Her either cheek with bashfulness.

Robert Herrick

Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast

Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

Robert Herrick

How Violets Came Blue.

Love on a day, wise poets tell,
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets should excel,
Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls, she fell on you:
And beat ye so, as some dare say,
Her blows did make ye blue.

Robert Herrick

The Description Of A Woman.

Whose head, befringed with bescattered tresses,
Shows like Apollo's when the morn he dresses,^[B]
Or like Aurora when with pearl she sets
Her long, dishevell'd, rose-crown'd trammelets:
Her forehead smooth, full, polish'd, bright and high
Bears in itself a graceful majesty,
Under the which two crawling eyebrows twine
Like to the tendrils of a flatt'ring vine,
Under whose shade two starry sparkling eyes
Are beautifi'd with fair fring'd canopies.
Her comely nose, with uniformal grace,
Like purest white, stands in the middle place,
Parting the pair, as we may well suppose.
Each cheek resembling still a damask rose,
Which like a garden manifestly show
How roses, lilies, and carnations grow,
Which sweetly mixed both with white and red,
Like rose leav...

Robert Herrick