The Honeycomb.

If thou hast found an honeycomb,
Eat thou not all, but taste on some:
For if thou eat'st it to excess,
That sweetness turns to loathsomeness.
Taste it to temper, then 'twill be
Marrow and manna unto thee.

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 Cuts.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

His Prayer For Absolution

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Dialogue Betwixt Himself And Mistress Eliza Wheeler, Under The Name Of Amarillis

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Another To The Maids

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.

Manna.

That manna, which God on His people cast,
Fitted itself to ev'ry feeder's taste.

Robert Herrick

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

The Present; Or, The Bag Of The Bees

Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee,
And say thou bring'st this honey-bag from me;
When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,
Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste;
If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum,
Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come.

Robert Herrick

Oberon's Feast

Hapcot! To thee the Fairy State
I with discretion, dedicate.
Because thou prizest things that are
Curious, and un-familiar.
Take first the feast; these dishes gone,
We'll see the Fairy Court anon.
A little mushroom table spread,
After short prayers, they set on bread;
A moon-parched grain of purest wheat,
With some small glit'ring grit, to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was sterv'd:
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,
The merry cricket, the puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstralcy.
And now, we must imagine first,
The elves present to quench his thirst
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,

Robert Herrick

To His Book.

Come thou not near those men who are like bread
O'er-leaven'd, or like cheese o'er-renneted.

Robert Herrick