Robert Herrick Quotes

Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.

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.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white;
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy King;
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

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

"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!

And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.

Tis but a dog-like madnesse in bad Kings,
For to delight in wounds and murdering.
As some plants prosper best by cuts and blowes:
So Kings by killing doe encrease their foes.

- Cruelty

Wantons we are, and though our words be such
Our lives do differ from our lines by much.

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

- Rapine Brings Ruine

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

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.]