Love Is A Syrup.

Love is a syrup; and whoe'er we see
Sick and surcharg'd with this satiety,
Shall by this pleasing trespass quickly prove
There's loathsomeness e'en in the sweets of love.

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

The Mad Maid's Song

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Strength To Support Sovereignty.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To M. Henry Lawes, The Excellent Composer Of His Lyrics.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Nothing Free-Cost

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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On Love

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

Robert Herrick

Another On Love.

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

Robert Herrick

Not To Love.

He that will not love must be
My scholar, and learn this of me:
There be in love as many fears
As the summer's corn has ears:
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows more
Than the sand that makes the shore:
Freezing cold and fiery heats,
Fainting swoons and deadly sweats;
Now an ague, then a fever,
Both tormenting lovers ever.
Would'st thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please,
How cross, how sullen, and how soon
She shifts and changes like the moon.
How false, how hollow she's in heart:
And how she is her own least part:
How high she's priz'd, and worth but small;
Little thou'lt love, or not at all.

Robert Herrick

A Hymn To Love

I will confess
With cheerfulness,
Love is a thing so likes me,
That, let her lay
On me all day,
I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.

I will not, I,
Now blubb'ring cry,
It, ah! too late repents me
That I did fall
To love at all,
Since love so much contents me.

No, no, I'll be
In fetters free;
While others they sit wringing
Their hands for pain,
I'll entertain
The wounds of love with singing.

With flowers and wine,
And cakes divine,
To strike me I will tempt thee;
Which done, no more
I'll come before
Thee and thine altars empty.

Robert Herrick

Upon Love (2)

A crystal vial Cupid brought,
Which had a juice in it:
Of which who drank, he said, no thought
Of Love he should admit.

I, greedy of the prize, did drink,
And emptied soon the glass;
Which burnt me so, that I do think
The fire of hell it was.

Give me my earthen cups again,
The crystal I contemn,
Which, though enchased with pearls, contain
A deadly draught in them.

And thou, O Cupid!come not to
My threshold, since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.

Robert Herrick

An Hymn To Love.

    I will confess
    With cheerfulness,
Love is a thing so likes me,
    That let her lay
    On me all day,
I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.

    I will not, I,
    Now blubb'ring, cry,
It, ah! too late repents me,
    That I did fall
    To love at all,
Since love so much contents me.

    No, no, I'll be
    In fetters free:
While others they sit wringing
    Their hands for pain,
    I'll entertain
The wounds of love with singing.

    With flowers and wine,
    And cakes divine,
To strike me I will tempt thee:
    Which done; no more
    I'll come before
Thee and thine altars empty.

Robert Herrick