A selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick Part 15

116. TO HIS MISTRESS, OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.

You blame me, too, because I can't devise Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes; By Love's religion, I must here confess it, The most I love, when I the least express it.

Shall griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound.

Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below.

So when love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.

Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such, Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.

117. IMPOSSIBILITIES: TO HIS FRIEND

My faithful friend, if you can see The fruit to grow up, or the tree; If you can see the colour come Into the blushing pear or plum; If you can see the water grow To cakes of ice, or flakes of snow; If you can see that drop of rain Lost in the wild sea once again; If you can see how dreams do creep Into the brain by easy sleep:-- --Then there is hope that you may see Her love me once, who now hates me.

118. THE BUBBLE: A SONG

To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears!

In the wild air, when thou hast roll'd about, And, like a blasting planet, found her out; Stoop, mount, pa.s.s by to take her eye--then glare Like to a dreadful comet in the air: Next, when thou dost perceive her fixed sight For thy revenge to be most opposite, Then, like a globe, or ball of wild-fire, fly, And break thyself in shivers on her eye!

119. DELIGHT IN DISORDER

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility;-- Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

120. TO SILVIA

Pardon my trespa.s.s, Silvia! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness:-- None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.

121. 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.

122. BARLEY-BREAK; OR, LAST IN h.e.l.l

We two are last in h.e.l.l; what may we fear To be tormented or kept pris'ners here I Alas! if kissing be of plagues the worst, We'll wish in h.e.l.l we had been last and first.

123. ON A PERFUMED LADY

You say you're sweet: how should we know Whether that you be sweet or no?

--From powders and perfumes keep free; Then we shall smell how sweet you be!

124. THE PARCAE; OR, THREE DAINTY DESTINIES: THE ARMILET

Three lovely sisters working were, As they were closely set, Of soft and dainty maiden-hair, A curious Armilet.

I, smiling, ask'd them what they did, Fair Destinies all three?

Who told me they had drawn a thread Of life, and 'twas for me.

They shew'd me then how fine 'twas spun And I replied thereto; 'I care not now how soon 'tis done, Or cut, if cut by you.'

125. A CONJURATION: TO ELECTRA

By those soft tods of wool, With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there That paint the hemisphere; By dews and drizzling rain, That swell the golden grain; By all those sweets that be I'th' flowery nunnery; By silent nights, and the Three forms of Hecate; By all aspects that bless The sober sorceress, While juice she strains, and pith To make her philtres with; By Time, that hastens on Things to perfection; And by your self, the best Conjurement of the rest; --O, my Electra! be In love with none but me.

126. TO SAPHO

Sapho, I will chuse to go Where the northern winds do blow Endless ice, and endless snow; Rather than I once would see But a winter's face in thee,-- To benumb my hopes and me.

127. OF LOVE: A SONNET

How Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th'eye, or ear, or no; Or whether with the soul it came, At first, infused with the same; Whether in part 'tis here or there, Or, like the soul, whole every where.

This troubles me; but I as well As any other, this can tell; That when from hence she does depart, The outlet then is from the heart.