A selection from the lyrical poems of Robert Herrick Part 20

180. FOUR THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE

Health is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then: Next, to be rich by no by-ways; Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our days.

181. THE WATCH

Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never Wound up again; Once down, he's down for ever.

The watch once down, all motions then do cease; The man's pulse stopt, all pa.s.sions sleep in peace.

182. UPON THE DETRACTER

I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read, And lik'st the best? Still thou repli'st, The dead.

--I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be; Then sure thou'lt like, or thou wilt envy, me.

183. ON HIMSELF

Live by thy Muse thou shalt, when others die, Leaving no fame to long posterity; When monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone, Here shall endure thy vast dominion.

NATURE AND LIFE

184. I CALL AND I CALL

I call, I call: who do ye call?

The maids to catch this cowslip ball!

But since these cowslips fading be, Troth, leave the flowers, and maids, take me!

Yet, if that neither you will do, Speak but the word, and I'll take you,

185. THE SUCCESSION OF THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS

First, April, she with mellow showers Opens the way for early flowers; Then after her comes smiling May, In a more rich and sweet array; Next enters June, and brings us more Gems than those two that went before; Then, lastly, July comes, and she More wealth brings in than all those three.

186. TO BLOSSOMS

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here a-while, To blush and gently smile; And go at last.

What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight; And so to bid good-night?

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth, Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you, a-while;--they glide Into the grave.

187. THE SHOWER OF BLOSSOMS

Love in a shower of blossoms came Down, and half drown'd me with the same; The blooms that fell were white and red; But with such sweets commingled, As whether (this) I cannot tell, My sight was pleased more, or my smell; But true it was, as I roll'd there, Without a thought of hurt or fear, Love turn'd himself into a bee, And with his javelin wounded me;--- From which mishap this use I make; Where most sweets are, there lies a snake; Kisses and favours are sweet things; But those have thorns, and these have stings.

188. TO THE ROSE: SONG

Go, happy Rose, and interwove With other flowers, bind my Love.

Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands; Tell her, if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will, For to tame, though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go And tell her this,--but do not so!-- Lest a handsome anger fly Like a lightning from her eye, And burn thee up, as well as I!

189. THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE

The Rose was sick, and smiling died; And, being to be sanctified, About the bed, there sighing stood The sweet and flowery sisterhood.

Some hung the head, while some did bring, To wash her, water from the spring; Some laid her forth, while others wept, But all a solemn fast there kept.

The holy sisters some among, The sacred dirge and trental sung; But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere, As heaven had spent all perfumes there!

At last, when prayers for the dead, And rites, were all accomplished, They, weeping, spread a lawny loom, And closed her up as in a tomb.

190. THE BLEEDING HAND; OR THE SPRIG OF EGLANTINE GIVEN TO A MAID

From this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine: Which, though sweet unto your smell, Yet the fretful briar will tell, He who plucks the sweets, shall prove Many thorns to be in love.