Selections from the Poetry of Robert Herrick, Ed (Google eBook)

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Ginn, 1895 - 200 pages
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Page 34 - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For, having...
Page 34 - GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting; The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may...
Page 110 - I've none, A cock I have to sing how day draws on : I have A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent, To save That little Fates me gave or lent...
Page 27 - There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up, and gone to bring in May. A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have...
Page 142 - IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me...
Page 82 - 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 awhile 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.
Page 77 - SONG. Good morrow to the day so fair ; Good morning, sir, to you ; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good morning to this primrose too ; Good morrow to each maid ; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid. Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day ! For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away.
Page 26 - May. Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair: Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.
Page 27 - Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And take the harmless folly of the time! We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun.
Page 83 - 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, awhile, they glide Into the grave.

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