To Apollo. A Short Hymn.

Ph[oe]bus! when that I a verse
Or some numbers more rehearse,
Tune my words that they may fall
Each way smoothly musical:
For which favour there shall be
Swans devoted 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

Short And Long Both Likes.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To God: On His Sickness.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Puss And Her 'Prentice. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Madam Ursly. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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To Apollo.

Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,
Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspire
My fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,
That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.

Robert Herrick

A Canticle To Apollo

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute,
And we will sit all mute;
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark! the God does play!
And as he leads the way
Through heaven, the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears!

Robert Herrick

Canticle To Apollo

Play, Phoebus, on thy lute,
And we will sit all mute;
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark!the God does play!
And as he leads the way
Through heaven, the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears!

Robert Herrick

To His Worthy Friend, M. John Hall, Student Of Gray's Inn.

Tell me, young man, or did the Muses bring
Thee less to taste than to drink up their spring,
That none hereafter should be thought, or be
A poet, or a poet-like but thee?
What was thy birth, thy star that makes thee known,
At twice ten years, a prime and public one?
Tell us thy nation, kindred, or the whence
Thou had'st and hast thy mighty influence,
That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd,
And no less prais'd than of the maids admired.
Put on thy laurel then; and in that trim
Be thou Apollo or the type of him:
Or let the unshorn god lend thee his lyre,
And next to him be master of the choir.

Robert Herrick

Hymn To Apollo

1.

God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!

2.

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!

3.

The Pleiades...

John Keats

To The King.

If when these lyrics, Cæsar, you shall hear,
And that Apollo shall so touch your ear
As for to make this, that, or any one,
Number your own, by free adoption;
That verse, of all the verses here, shall be
The heir to this great realm of poetry.

Robert Herrick