Upon Sappho Sweetly Playing And Sweetly Singing.

When thou dost play and sweetly sing -
Whether it be the voice or string
Or both of them that do agree
Thus to entrance and ravish me -
This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute,
And die away upon thy lute.

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

No Time In Eternity.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Honeycomb.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Anthea.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Paul. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon A Gentlewoman With A Sweet Voice.

So long you did not sing or touch your lute,
We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute.
But when your playing and your voice came in,
'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.

Robert Herrick

To Sappho.

Let us now take time and play,
Love, and live here while we may;
Drink rich wine, and make good cheer,
While we have our being here;
For once dead and laid i' th' grave,
No return from thence we have.

Robert Herrick

Upon Sappho.

Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear
There is a love-like leaven rising there.

Robert Herrick

To Music

Begin to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears
With thine enchantment, melt me into tears.
Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre,
And make my spirits frantic with the fire;
That done, sink down into a silvery strain,
And make me smooth as balm and oil again.

Robert Herrick

On Lyric Poetry

I

Once more I join the Thespian choir,
And taste the inspiring fount again:
O parent of the Grecian lyre,
Admit me to thy powerful strain
And lo, with ease my step invades
The pathless vale and opening shades,
Till now I spy her verdant seat;
And now at large I drink the sound,
While these her offspring, listening round,
By turns her melody repeat.
I see Anacreon smile and sing,
His silver tresses breathe perfume;
His cheek displays a second spring
Of roses taught by wine to bloom.
Away, deceitful cares, away,
And let me listen to his lay;
Let me the wanton pomp injoy,
While in smooth dance the light-wing'd Hours
Lead round his lyre it's patron powers,
Kind laughter and convivial joy.
Broke from the fetters of his native land,

Mark Akenside

To Sappho.

Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar.

Robert Herrick