Upon Silvia, A Mistress.

When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was,
Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass,
Which renders that quite tarnished which was green,
And priceless now what peerless once had been.
Upon thy form more wrinkles yet will fall,
And, coming down, shall make no noise at all.

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

Distrust.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Lyric For Legacies.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Meadows

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Cherry-Pit

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.

A Song Upon Silvia.

From me my Silvia ran away,
And running therewithal
A primrose bank did cross her way,
And gave my love a fall.

But trust me now, I dare not say
What I by chance did see;
But such the drap'ry did betray
That fully ravished me.

Robert Herrick

To Silvia.

I am holy while I stand
Circum-crost by thy pure hand;
But when that is gone, again
I, as others, am profane.

Robert Herrick

To Silvia To Wed

Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed;
And loving lie in one devoted bed.
Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post haste;
No sound calls back the year that once is past.
Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay;
True love, we know, precipitates delay.
Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove!
No man, at one time, can be wise, and love.

Robert Herrick

To Silvia.

No more, my Silvia, do I mean to pray
For those good days that ne'er will come away.
I want belief; O gentle Silvia, be
The patient saint, and send up vows for me.

Robert Herrick

Upon A Comely And Curious Maid.

If men can say that beauty dies,
Marbles will swear that here it lies.
If, reader, then thou canst forbear
In public loss to shed a tear,
The dew of grief upon this stone
Will tell thee pity thou hast none.

Robert Herrick

Upon Franck.

Franck ne'er wore silk she swears; but I reply,
She now wears silk to hide her blood-shot eye.

Robert Herrick