These are the top twenty (20) most popular poems of Robert Herrick.
From To Marigolds. to His Loss.
If you want to know his greatest poems of all time, then this poetry collection is for you.
Give way, and be ye ravish’d by the sun,
And hang the head whenas the act is done,
Spread as he spreads, wax less as he does wane;
And as he shuts, close up to maids again.
God is so potent, as His power can
Draw out of bad a sovereign good to man.
Whene’er my heart love’s warmth but entertains,
Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes.
One drop now deads a spark, but if the same
Once gets a force, floods cannot quench the flame.
Rather than love, let me be ever lost,
Or let me ‘gender with eternal frost.
A Bacchanalian Verse.
Fill me a mighty bowl
Up to the brim,
That I may drink
Unto my Jonson’s soul.
Crown it again, again;
And thrice repeat
That happy heat,
To drink to thee, my Ben.
Well I can quaff, I see,
To th’ number five
Or nine; but thrive
In frenzy ne’er like thee.
A Bacchanalian Verse.
But not spill wine;
For if you
‘Tis an ill sign;
You are cloy’d here,
If so, no
But avoid here.
No Spouse But A Sister.
A bachelor I will
Live as I have liv’d still,
And never take a wife
To crucify my life;
But this I’ll tell ye too,
What now I mean to do:
A sister (in the stead
Of wife) about I’ll lead;
Which I will keep embrac’d,
And kiss, but yet be chaste.
A Hymn To Love
I will confess
Love is a thing so likes me,
That, let her lay
On me all day,
I’ll kiss the hand that strikes me.
I will not, I,
Now blubb’ring cry,
It, ah! too late repents me
That I did fall
To love at all,
Since love so much contents me.
No, no, I’ll be
In fetters free;
While others they sit wringing
Their hands for pain,
The wounds of love with singing.
With flowers and wine,Robert Herrick
And cakes divine,
To strike me I will tempt thee;
Which done, no more
I’ll come before
Thee and thine altars empty.
The Ungentle Guest
One silent night of late,
When every creature rested,
Came one unto my gate,
And knocking, me molested.
Who’s that, said I, beats there,
And troubles thus the sleepy?
Cast off; said he, all fear,
And let not locks thus keep ye.
For I a boy am, who
By moonless nights have swerved;
And all with showers wet through,
And e’en with cold half starved.
I pitiful arose,
And soon a taper lighted;
And did myself disclose
Unto the lad benighted.
I saw he had a bow,
And wings too, which did shiver;
And looking down below,
I spied he had a quiver.
I to my chimney’s shine
Brought him, as Love professes,
And chafed his hands with mine,
And dried his dropping tresses.
But when he felt him warm’d,
Let’s try this bow of ours
And string, if they be harm’d,
Said he, with these late showers.
Forthwith his bow he bent,
And wedded string and arrow,
And struck me, that it went
Quite through my heart and marrow
Then laughing loud, he flew
Away, and thus said flying,
Adieu, mine host, adieu,
I’ll leave thy heart a-dying.
Christ’s Part.Robert Herrick
Christ, He requires still, wheresoe’er He comes
To feed or lodge, to have the best of rooms:
Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part
Of all the house: the best of all’s the heart.
A Child’s Grace
Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on us all. Amen.
Sauce For Sorrows.
Although our suffering meet with no relief,
An equal mind is the best sauce for grief.
A Bucolic Betwixt Two: Lacon & Thyrsis
LACON: For a kiss or two, confess,
What doth cause this pensiveness,
Thou most lovely neat-herdess?
Why so lonely on the hill?
Why thy pipe by thee so still,
That erewhile was heard so shrill?
Tell me, do thy kine now fail
To fulfil the milking-pail?
Say, what is’t that thou dost ail?
THYR: None of these; but out, alas!
A mischance is come to pass,
And I’ll tell thee what it was:
See, mine eyes are weeping ripe.
LACON. Tell, and I’ll lay down my pipe.
THYR: I have lost my lovely steer,
That to me was far more dear
Than these kine which I milk here;
Broad of forehead, large of eye,
Party-colour’d like a pye,
Smooth in each limb as a die;
Clear of hoof, and clear of horn,
Sharply pointed as a thorn;
With a neck by yoke unworn,
From the which hung down by strings,
Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,
Interplaced with ribbonings;
Faultless every way for shape;
Not a straw could him escape,
Ever gamesome as an ape,
But yet harmless as a sheep.
Pardon, Lacon, if I weep;
Tears will spring where woes are deep.
Now, ai me! ai me! Last night
Came a mad dog, and did bite,
Ay, and kill’d my dear delight.
LACON: Alack, for grief!
THYR: But I’ll be brief.
Hence I must, for time doth call
Me, and my sad playmates all,
To his evening funeral.
Live long, Lacon; so adieu!
LACON: Mournful maid, farewell to you;
Earth afford ye flowers to strew!
A Christmas Carol, Sung To The King In The Presence At White-Hall
What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a Carol, for to sing
The Birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the Voice! Awake the String!
Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thing
Awake! the while the active Finger
Runs division with the Singer.
[From the Flourish they came to the Song].
Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honor to this Day,
That sees December turn’d to May.
If we may ask the reason, say:
The why, and wherefore all things here
Seem like the Spring-time fo the year?
Why does the chilling Winter’s morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?
Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
‘Tis He is born, whose quick’ning Birth
Gives life and luster, public mirth,
To Heaven and the under-Earth.
We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who, with His Sun-shine, and His Showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
The Darling of the World is come,
And fit it is, we find a room
To welcome Him.
The nobler part
Of all the house here, is the Heart,
Which we will give Him; and bequeath
This Holly and this Ivy Wreath,
To do Him honor; who’s our King,
And Lord of all this Reveling.
A Hymn To Bacchus
Bacchus, let me drink no more!
Wild are seas that want a shore!
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in’t.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup, Hercules.
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadils giv’n up to thee.
A Canticle To Apollo
Play, Phoebus, on thy lute,
And we will sit all mute;
By listening to thy lyre,
That sets all ears on fire.
Hark, hark! the God does play!Robert Herrick
And as he leads the way
Through heaven, the very spheres,
As men, turn all to ears!
A Good Death.
For truth I may this sentence tell,
No man dies ill, that liveth well.
A Hymn To The Muses
Honour to you who sit
Near to the well of wit,
And drink your fill of it!
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet Maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me;
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string,
My measures ravishing!
Then, while I sing your praise,
My priest-hood crown with bays
Green to the end of days!
His Content In The Country
Here, Here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford;
Though ne’er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prue and me:
Or pea or bean, or wort or beet,
Whatever comes, Content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement;
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne’er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night:
We eat our own, and batten more,
Because we feed on no man’s score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell’d with the lard of other’s meat.
We bless our fortunes, when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we’re known
To very few, or else to none.
A Request To The Graces
Ponder my words, if so that any be
Known guilty here of incivility;
Let what is graceless, discomposed, and rude,
With sweetness, smoothness, softness be endued:
Teach it to blush, to curtsy, lisp, and show
Demure, but yet full of temptation, too.
Numbers ne’er tickle, or but lightly please,
Unless they have some wanton carriages:
This if ye do, each piece will here be good
And graceful made by your neat sisterhood.
All has been plunder’d from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
Wow! His poems are really splendid to be fair. That’s why he’s best known for his book of poems―Hesperides. Some of his poems are short but direct and some are long but full of details. Overall, each of his poems is amazing!
A Hymn To Love is my favorite poem in this collection. It’s so romantic and no lady won’t feel butterflies when her lover expresses his love to her just like this.
What about you? What’s your most favorite poem of Robert Herrick?
Is your favorite poem included in this list? Let me know in the comment section below! 😉