The Last Stroke Strikes Sure.

Though by well warding many blows we've pass'd,
That stroke most fear'd is which is struck the last.

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 Her Feet

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

His Covenant Or Protestation To Julia

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

His Sailing From Julia

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To The Genius Of His House

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The End.

Conquer we shall, but we must first contend;
'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

Robert Herrick

The End.

If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right;
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

Some parts may perish, die thou canst not all:
The most of thee shall 'scape the funeral.

Robert Herrick

His Meditation Upon Death

Be those few hours, which I have yet to spend,
Blest with the meditation of my end;
Though they be few in number, I'm content;
If otherwise, I stand indifferent,
Nor makes it matter, Nestor's years to tell,
If man lives long, and if he live not well.
A multitude of days still heaped on
Seldom brings order, but confusion.
Might I make choice, long life should be with-stood;
Nor would I care how short it were, if good;
Which to effect, let ev'ry passing bell
Possess my thoughts, next comes my doleful knell;
And when the night persuades me to my bed,
I'll think I'm going to be buried;
So shall the blankets which come over me
Present those turfs, which once must cover me;
And with as firm behaviour I will meet
The sheet I sleep in, as my winding-sheet.
W...

Robert Herrick

Upon The Troublesome Times.

O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!

Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?

No places are,
This I am sure,
Secure
In this our wasting war.

Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.

Robert Herrick

His Weakness In Woes.

I cannot suffer; and in this my part
Of patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest heart.

Robert Herrick