Thou that tam’st tigers, and fierce storms, that rise,
With thy soul-melting lullabies;
Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres
To charm our souls, as thou enchant’st our ears.
Similar Posts
From this bleeding hand of mine,
Which, though sweet unto your smell,Yet the fretful briar will tell,He who plucks the sweets, shall proveMany thorns to be in love.
Upon Himself
Thou shalt not all die; for while Love’s fire shinesUpon his altar, men shall read thy lines;And learn’d musicians shall, to honour Herrick’sFame, and his name, both set and sing his lyrics.To his book’s end this last line he’d have placed:–Jocund his Muse was, but his Life was chaste.
I have lost, and lately, these
Stately Julia, prime of all;Sapho next, a principal:Smooth Anthea, for a skinWhite, and heaven-like crystalline:Sweet Electra, and the choiceMyrha, for the lute and voice.Next, Corinna, for her wit,And the graceful use of it;With Perilla:–All are gone;Only Herrick’s left alone,For to number sorrow byTheir departures hence, and die.
Happily I had a sight
Make her this day smile on me,And I’ll roses give to thee!
Thou that tam’st Tygers, and fierce storms (that rise)
With thy soul-melting Lullabies:
Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres,
To charm our souls, as thou enchant’st our ears.
Similar Posts
My Muse in meads has spent her many hours
To make for others garlands; and to setOn many a head here, many a coronet.But amongst all encircled here, not oneGave her a day of coronation;Till you, sweet mistress, came and interwoveA laurel for her, ever young as Love.You first of all crown’d her; she must, of due,Render for that, a crown of life to…
See’st thou that cloud as silver clear,
‘Tis Julia’s bed, and she sleeps there.
Ask me why I send you here
Ask me why I send to youThis Primrose, thus bepearl’d with dew?I will whisper to your ears,–The sweets of love are mixt with tears.Ask me why this flower does showSo yellow-green, and sickly too?Ask me why the stalk is weakAnd bending, yet it doth not break?I will answer,–these discoverWhat fainting hopes are in a lover.
Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
To make a seizure on the light,Or to seal up the sun.No marigolds yet closed are,No shadows great appear;Nor doth the early shepherds’ starShine like a spangle here.Stay but till my Julia closeHer life-begetting eye;And let the whole world then disposeItself to live or die.
Come, bring your sampler, and with art
And dropping here and there;Not that I think that any dartCan make your’s bleed a tear,Or pierce it any where;Yet do it to this end,–that IMay byThis secret see,Though you can makeThat heart to bleed, your’s ne’er will acheFor me,
When I behold a forest spread
And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when…