Upon Sappho.

Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear
There is a love-like leaven rising there.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Upon Pimp.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon One-Ey'd Broomsted. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

No Pains, No Gains

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Nuptial Song Or Epithalamy On Sir Clipseby Crew And His Lady.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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To Sappho.

Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!
Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar.

Robert Herrick

Upon Sappho Sweetly Playing And Sweetly Singing.

When thou dost play and sweetly sing -
Whether it be the voice or string
Or both of them that do agree
Thus to entrance and ravish me -
This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute,
And die away upon thy lute.

Robert Herrick

Upon Her Weeping.

She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem'd to quench love's fire that there did glow.

Robert Herrick

A Hymn To Venus And Cupid

Sea-born goddess, let me be
By thy son thus graced, and thee,
That whene'er I woo, I find
Virgins coy, but not unkind.
Let me, when I kiss a maid,
Taste her lips, so overlaid
With love's sirop, that I may
In your temple, when I pray,
Kiss the altar, and confess
There's in love no bitterness.

Robert Herrick

The Apron Of Flowers

To gather flowers, Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent,
The treasure of the Spring.

She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She look'd as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.

Her apron gave, as she did pass,
An odour more divine,
More pleasing too, than ever was
The lap of Proserpine.

Robert Herrick

The Headache.

My head doth ache,
O Sappho! take
Thy fillet,
And bind the pain,
Or bring some bane
To kill it.

But less that part
Than my poor heart
Now is sick;
One kiss from thee
Will counsel be
And physic.

Robert Herrick