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

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

A Paraneaticall Or Advice Verse To His Friend, Mr John Wicks

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Hymn To Bacchus.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Vision.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To God.

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.

The Bag Of The Bee

About the sweet bag of a bee
Two cupids fell at odds,
And whose the pretty prize should be
They vowed to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stripped them,
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipped them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kissed, and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.

Robert Herrick

The Captiv'd Bee; Or, The Little Filcher

As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower;
For some rich flower, he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he suck'd from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir;
So Julia took the pilferer.
And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t'excuse:
'Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much sirup ran at waste.
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flower that gives me nourishing;
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey...

Robert Herrick

The Little Filcher; Or, The Captiv'd Bee

As Julia once a-slumb'ring lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower;
For some rich flower, he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he suck'd from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir;
So Julia took the pilferer.
And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t'excuse:
'Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much sirup ran at waste.
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flower that gives me nourishing;
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey...

Robert Herrick

Ballade Of The Bees Of Trebizond

There blooms a flower in Trebizond
Stored with such honey for the bee,
(So saith the antique book I conned)
Of such alluring fragrancy,
Not sweeter smells the Eden-tree;
Thither the maddened feasters fly,
Yet - so alas! is it with me -
To taste that honey is to die.

Belovèd, I, as foolish fond,
Feast still my eyes and heart on thee,
Asking no blessedness beyond
Thy face from morn till night to see,
Ensorcelled past all remedy;
Even as those foolish bees am I,
Though well I know my destiny -
To taste that honey is to die.

O'er such a doom shall I despond?
I would not from thy snare go free,
Release me not from thy sweet bond,
I live but in thy mystery;
Though all my senses from me flee,
I still would glut my glazing eye,

Richard Le Gallienne

To His Mistresses.

Put on your silks, and piece by piece
Give them the scent of ambergris;
And for your breaths, too, let them smell
Ambrosia-like, or nectarel;
While other gums their sweets perspire,
By your own jewels set on fire.

Robert Herrick

To Marigolds.

Give way, and be ye ravish'd by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again.

Robert Herrick