Robert Herrick (1591 – 1674)
17th century English poet.
Some asked me where the rubies grew,
And nothing I did say;
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
Bid me despair, and I'll despair,
Under that cypress tree;
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en Death, to die for thee.
'Tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in.
Some asked how pearls did grow, and where?
Then spoke I to my girl
To part her lips, and showed them there
The quarelets of pearl.
You say to me-wards your affection's strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat,
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see a wild civility,
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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.
Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle.
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness.