Robert Herrick Quotes

Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction… 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.

When as in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.

Her eyes, the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Then come on, come on, and yield A savour like unto a blessed field, When the bedabbled morn Washes the golden ears of corn.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.