The Eucharist.

He that is hurt seeks help: sin is the wound;
The salve for this i' th' Eucharist is found.

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

Upon Luggs. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Herrick's Fairy Poems And The Description Of The King And Queene Of Fayries Published 1635.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon A Physician.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Scare-Fire.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Christ.

To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be,
Christ is the one sufficient remedy.

Robert Herrick

To Christ.

I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.

Robert Herrick

Upon Love.

Some salve to every sore we may apply;
Only for my wound there's no remedy.
Yet if my Julia kiss me, there will be
A sovereign balm found out to cure me.

Robert Herrick

Christ's Suffering.

Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us,
Who hath more suffered by us far, than for us.

Robert Herrick

Upon Cupid.

Old wives have often told how they
Saw Cupid bitten by a flea;
And thereupon, in tears half drown'd,
He cried aloud: Help, help the wound!
He wept, he sobb'd, he call'd to some
To bring him lint and balsamum,
To make a tent, and put it in
Where the stiletto pierced the skin;
Which, being done, the fretful pain
Assuaged, and he was well again.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

Love-sick I am, and must endure
A desperate grief, that finds no cure.
Ah me! I try; and trying, prove
No herbs have power to cure love.
Only one sovereign salve I know,
And that is death, the end of woe.

Robert Herrick