To Bacchus: A Canticle

Whither dost thou hurry me,
Bacchus, being full of thee?
This way, that way, that way, this,
Here and there a fresh Love is;
That doth like me, this doth please;
Thus a thousand mistresses
I have now:yet I alone,
Having all, enjoy not one!

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 Franck.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Sobriety In Search.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Cheerfulness In Charity; Or, The Sweet Sacrifice.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Men Mind No State In Sickness

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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To Bacchus, A Canticle.

Whither dost thou whorry me,
Bacchus, being full of thee?
This way, that way, that way, this,
Here and there a fresh love is.
That doth like me, this doth please,
Thus a thousand mistresses
I have now; yet I alone,
Having all, enjoy not one.

Robert Herrick

A Hymn To Bacchus

Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore!
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadils giv'n up to thee.

Robert Herrick

Hymn To Bacchus

Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore!
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffodils giv'n up to thee.

Robert Herrick

A Hymn To Bacchus.

I sing thy praise, Iacchus,
Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us:
And yet thou so dost back us
With boldness, that we fear
No Brutus ent'ring here,
Nor Cato the severe.
What though the lictors threat us,
We know they dare not beat us,
So long as thou dost heat us.
When we thy orgies sing,
Each cobbler is a king,
Nor dreads he any thing:
And though he do not rave,
Yet he'll the courage have
To call my Lord Mayor knave;
Besides, too, in a brave,
Although he has no riches,
But walks with dangling breeches
And skirts that want their stitches,
And shows his naked flitches,
Yet he'll be thought or seen
So good as George-a-Green;
And calls his blouze, his queen;
And speaks in language keen.
O Bacchus! let us be
From cares an...

Robert Herrick

The Apparition Of His, Mistress, Calling Him To Elysium

THE APPARITION OF HIS, MISTRESS,
CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM

DESUNT NONNULLA

Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades, wherever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia, crown the untill'd soil;
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but amber-gris and gums.
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire
More sweet than storax from the hallow'd fire;
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears
Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears;
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like morning sun-shine, tinselling the dew.
Here in green meadows sits eternal May,
Purfling the margents, while perpetual day
So double-gilds the air, as that no night
Can ...

Robert Herrick

A Hymn To Cupid.

Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,
With whom the sea-nymphs play;
And Venus, every way:
When I embrace thy knee,
And make short pray'rs to thee,
In love then prosper me.
This day I go to woo;
Instruct me how to do
This work thou put'st me to.
From shame my face keep free;
From scorn I beg of thee,
Love, to deliver me:
So shall I sing thy praise,
And to thee altars raise,
Unto the end of days.

Robert Herrick