To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time (1648)

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To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time

by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
    To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
    The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
    And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
    When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
    Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
    And while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
    You may for ever tarry.

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Miscellany


Other poems by Robert Herrick (read randomly)

Julia, I bring
To thee this ring,
Made for thy finger fit;

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof

Ah Ben!
Say how, or when
Shall we thy guests

Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,

Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne
Upon her wings presents the god unshorne.
See how Aurora throwes her faire

A SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown

More discontents I never had
Since I was born, than here;
Where I have been, and still am, sad,

Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear
To me as blood to life and spirit; near,
Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife

For those my unbaptized rhymes,
Writ in my wild unhallowed times,
For every sentence, clause, and word,

When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,