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Made green and trimm'd with trees: see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch: each porch, each door, ere this,

An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.

Can such delights be in the street
And open fields, and we not see 't?
Come, we'll abroad : and let's obey

The proclamation made for May,
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a- a-Maying


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 despatch'd their cakes and cream,

Before that we have left to dream:
And some have wept and woo'd, and plighted

troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:

Many a green-gown has been given;
Many a kiss, both odd and even:
Many a glance, too, has been sent

From out the eye, love's firmament;
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd: yet we're not



Come, let us go, while we are in our prime;
And take the harmless folly of the time.

To Blossoms

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;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,

So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight |

Lies drown'd with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying.

Robert Herrick.



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?
'T was 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. 1648.

Robert Herrick.



Fair Daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon:
As yet the early-rising Sun

Has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song ;
And, having pray'd together, we

Will go with you along.


We have short time to stay, as you,

We have as short a Spring ;
As quick a growth to meet decay

As you, or any thing.

We die,
As your hours do, and dry


Like to the Summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick.




WELCOME, maids of honour !

You do bring

In the Spring,
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,

Fresh and fair;

Yet you are
More sweet than any.

You 're the maiden Posies,

And, so grac'd,

To be plac'd
'Fore damask roses.


Yet though thus respected,


Ye doe lie,
Poor girls! neglected.

Robert Herrick.




Ye have been fresh and green,

Ye have been fill'd with flowers,
And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours. 4 You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come
To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.


You 've heard them sweetly sing,

And seen them in a round:
Each virgin like a spring,

With honeysuckles crown'd.


But now we see none here

Whose silv'ry feet did tread,
And with disheveli'd hair

Adorn'd this smoother mead.


Life unthrifts, having spent

Your stock and needy grown,
You 're left here to lament
Your poor estates, alone.

Robert Herrick.




My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not

here; My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

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