Rest Refreshes.

Lay by the good a while; a resting field
Will, after ease, a richer harvest yield;
Trees this year bear: next, they their wealth withhold:
Continual reaping makes a land wax old.

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

To Dews. A Song.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Julia's Petticoat.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Another To Neptune.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

No Lock Against Letchery.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Rest.

On with thy work, though thou be'st hardly press'd:
Labour is held up by the hope of rest.

Robert Herrick

Repletion.

Physicians say repletion springs
More from the sweet than sour things.

Robert Herrick

To Meadows

Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been fill'd with flowers;
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come,
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown'd.

But now, we see none here,
Whose silvery feet did tread
And with dishevell'd hair
Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.

Robert Herrick

Long-Looked-For Comes At Last.

Though long it be, years may repay the debt;
None loseth that which he in time may get.

Robert Herrick

The Parting Verse, The Feast There Ended.

Loth to depart, but yet at last each one
Back must now go to's habitation;
Not knowing thus much when we once do sever,
Whether or no that we shall meet here ever.
As for myself, since time a thousand cares
And griefs hath filed upon my silver hairs,
'Tis to be doubted whether I next year
Or no shall give ye a re-meeting here.
If die I must, then my last vow shall be,
You'll with a tear or two remember me.
Your sometime poet; but if fates do give
Me longer date and more fresh springs to live,
Oft as your field shall her old age renew,
Herrick shall make the meadow-verse for you.

Robert Herrick

Anacreontic.

I must
Not trust
Here to any;
Bereav'd,
Deceiv'd
By so many:
As one
Undone
By my losses;
Comply
Will I
With my crosses;
Yet still
I will
Not be grieving,
Since thence
And hence
Comes relieving.
But this
Sweet is
In our mourning;
Times bad
And sad
Are a-turning:
And he
Whom we
See dejected,
Next day
We may
See erected.

Robert Herrick