Upon Vinegar.

Vinegar is no other, I define,
Than the dead corps, or carcase of the wine.

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

Sin.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Leaven.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To The Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl Of Westmoreland.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Sin Severely Punished.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Vine

I dreamed this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine,
Which, crawling one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Methought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise:
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced
About her head I writhing hung
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung,
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall,
So that she could not freely stir
(All parts there made one prisoner).
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took
That with the fancy i awoke,
And found (ah me!) thi...

Robert Herrick

The Vine.

I dreamt this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphos'd to a vine;
Which crawling one and every way
Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.
Methought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nerv'lets were embrac'd;
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters, hid among
The leaves, her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem'd to me
Young Bacchus ravish'd by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
All parts there made one prisoner.
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancy I awoke;
And found, ah me! this...

Robert Herrick

Sincerity.

Wash clean the vessel, lest ye sour
Whatever liquor in ye pour.

Robert Herrick

Upon Wrinkles

Wrinkles no more are, or no less,
Than beauty turn'd to sourness.

Robert Herrick

Anacreontic Verse.

Brisk methinks I am, and fine
When I drink my cap'ring wine:
Then to love I do incline,
When I drink my wanton wine:
And I wish all maidens mine,
When I drink my sprightly wine:
Well I sup and well I dine,
When I drink my frolic wine;
But I languish, lower, and pine,
When I want my fragrant wine.

Robert Herrick

How He Would Drink His Wine.

Fill me my wine in crystal; thus, and thus
I see't in's puris naturalibus:
Unmix'd. I love to have it smirk and shine;
'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throttle wine.
What madman's he, that when it sparkles so,
Will cool his flames or quench his fires with snow?

Robert Herrick