Tears And Laughter

Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away,
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.

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

Great Maladies, Long Medicines.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

His Coming To The Sepulchre.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Clothes For Continuance.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To M. Laurence Swetnaham.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Tears.

Tears most prevail; with tears, too, thou may'st move
Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.

Robert Herrick

Tears.

Our present tears here, not our present laughter,
Are but the handsels of our joys hereafter.

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

Comfort To A Lady Upon The Death Of Her Husband.

Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain,
Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again.
Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil,
But turn soon after calm as balm or oil.
Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease
The leafy trees nod in a still-born peace.
Your storm is over; lady, now appear
Like to the peeping springtime of the year.
Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on,
And flow and flame in your vermilion.
Upon your cheek sat icicles awhile;
Now let the rose reign like a queen, and smile.

Robert Herrick

His Lachrymæ; Or, Mirth Turned To Mourning.

Call me no more,
As heretofore,
The music of a feast;
Since now, alas!
The mirth that was
In me is dead or ceas'd.

Before I went,
To banishment,
Into the loathed west,
I could rehearse
A lyric verse,
And speak it with the best.

But time, ay me!
Has laid, I see,
My organ fast asleep,
And turn'd my voice
Into the noise
Of those that sit and weep.

Robert Herrick

Laugh And Lie Down.

Y'ave laughed enough, sweet, vary now your text!
And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.

Robert Herrick