Robert Herrick Quotes

English poet and cleric (1591–1674)

Robert Herrick (baptized August 24 1591 - October 1674) was a 17th century English poet. Born in Cheapside, London, he was the seventh child and fourth son of Nicholas Herrick, a prosperous goldsmith, who committed suicide when Robert was a year old.

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

Night makes no difference 'twixt the Priest and Clerk;
Joan as my Lady is as good i' the dark.

What's got by Justice is establisht sure;
No Kingdomes got by Rapine long endure.

- Rapine Brings Ruine

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying

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

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.]

To read my booke the Virgin Shie
May blush, (while Brutus standeth by:)
But when He’s gone, read through what’s writ,
And never staine a cheeke for it.

Au lecteur généreux

Vois sans voir, et si des imperfections
Se font jour au fil de mes traductions,
Ignore-les : quant aux énormités,
Cache-les, et, avec, la nudité
De leur père : il s'est forcé à l'éveil,
Mais Homère aussi succombe au sommeil…

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

We such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

To Daisies, Not To Shut So Soon

Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Has not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.

No marigolds yet closed are;
No shadows great appear;
Nor doth the early shepherds' star
Shine like a spangle here.

Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye,
And let the whole world then dispose
Itself to live or die.

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Which starlike sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free

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.

If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me, And hast command of every part to live and die for thee