The Smell Of The Sacrifice.

The gods require the thighs
Of beeves for sacrifice;
Which roasted, we the steam
Must sacrifice to them,
Who though they do not eat,
Yet love the smell of meat.

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

To His Worthy Kinsman, Mr. Stephen Soame.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Nuptial Verse To Mistress Elizabeth Lee, Now Lady Tracy.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon The Loss Of His Finger.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To The Honoured Master Endymion Porter.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Steam In Sacrifice.

If meat the gods give, I the steam
High-towering will devote to them,
Whose easy natures like it well,
If we the roast have, they the smell.

Robert Herrick

The Sacrifice, By Way Of Discourse Betwixt Himself And Julia.

Herr. Come and let's in solemn wise
        Both address to sacrifice:
        Old religion first commands
        That we wash our hearts, and hands.
        Is the beast exempt from stain,
        Altar clean, no fire profane?
        Are the garlands, is the nard
        Ready here?

Jul.    All well prepar'd,
        With the wine that must be shed,
        'Twixt the horns, upon the head
        Of the holy beast we bring
        For our trespass-offering.

Herr. All is well; now next to these
        Put we on pure surplices;
        And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
        With perfumes the holocaust:
        And, while we the gods invoke,
        Read acceptance by the smoke.

Robert Herrick

Sweetness In Sacrifice.

'Tis not greatness they require
To be offer'd up by fire;
But 'tis sweetness that doth please
Those Eternal Essences.

Robert Herrick

The Frankincense.

When my off'ring next I make,
Be thy hand the hallowed cake,
And thy breast the altar whence
Love may smell the frankincense.

Robert Herrick

To The Most Fair And Lovely Mistress Anne Soame, Now Lady Abdie.

So smell those odours that do rise
From out the wealthy spiceries;
So smells the flower of blooming clove,
Or roses smother'd in the stove;
So smells the air of spiced wine,
Or essences of jessamine;
So smells the breath about the hives
When well the work of honey thrives,
And all the busy factors come
Laden with wax and honey home;
So smell those neat and woven bowers
All over-arch'd with orange flowers,
And almond blossoms that do mix
To make rich these aromatics;
So smell those bracelets and those bands
Of amber chaf'd between the hands,
When thus enkindled they transpire
A noble perfume from the fire;
The wine of cherries, and to these
The cooling breath of respasses;
The smell of morning's milk and cream,
Butter of cowslips mix'd ...

Robert Herrick

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