Robert Herrick Quotes

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.

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.

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

"How The Whale Got His Throat

By Rudyard Kipling

When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
Because of the seas outside
When the ship goes wop (with a wiggle between)
And steward falls into the soup-tureen,
And trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)
You're "Fifty North and Forty West!

Her pretty feet, like snails, did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they playèd at bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.

Sur lui-même

Perdu au monde, à moi-même perdu,
Seul, me voici tout de marbre vêtu,
Ni vu, ni perçu, de silence imbu.

[On Himselfe

Lost to the world ; lost to myself ; alone
Here now I rest under this Marble stone :
In depth of silence, heard, and seen of none.]

God doth not promise here to man that He Will free him quickly from his misery; But in His own time, and when He thinks fit, Then He will give a happy end to it.

Paradise is, as from the learn'd I gather,
A choir of blest souls circling in the Father.

Here we are all, by day; by night, we're hurled
By dreams, each one, into a several world.

Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

'Tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in.

So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drowned with us in endless night.

I saw a flie within a beade
Of amber cleanly buried.

Bid me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be,
Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

Love is a circle that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of love.