Upon Her Feet

Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.

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 Loach.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Good Friday: Rex Tragicus; Or, Christ Going To His Cross.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Christ's Action.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Heaven

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.

Her Little Feet

Her little feet!... Beneath us ranged the sea,
    She sat, from sun and wind umbrella-shaded,
One shoe above the other danglingly,
    And lo! a Something exquisitely graded,
Brown rings and white, distracting - to the knee!

The band was loud. A wild waltz melody
    Flowed rhythmic forth. The nobodies paraded.
And thro' my dream went pulsing fast and free:
        Her little feet.

Till she made room for some one. It was He!
    A port-wine flavored He, a He who traded,
Rich, rosy, round, obese to a degree!
A sense of injury overmastered me.
    Quite bulbously his ample boots upbraided
        Her little feet.

                        William Ernest Henley.

William Ernest Henley

Upon Pimp.

When Pimp's feet sweat, as they do often use,
There springs a soap-like lather in his shoes.

Robert Herrick

Upon Her Weeping.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench love's fire that there did glow.

Robert Herrick

The Shoe-Tying.

Anthea bade me tie her shoe;
I did; and kissed the instep too:
And would have kissed unto her knee,
Had not her blush rebuked me.

Robert Herrick

Upon His Kinswoman, Mistress Bridget Herrick.

Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them
And smelt them, then they smelt to me
As blossoms of the almond tree.

Robert Herrick

Upon A Maid

Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty, it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.

Robert Herrick