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?
'Twas pity Nature brought you 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.
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|To the Virgins, to make much of Time|
|Corinna's going a-Maying|
|To the Western Wind|
|The Funeral Rites of the Rose|
|A Meditation for his Mistress|
|Delight in Disorder|
|Upon Julia's Clothes|
|The Bracelet: To Julia|
|To Daisies, not to shut so soon|
|The Night-piece: To Julia|
|To Music, to becalm his Fever|
|To Anthea, who may command him Anything|
|To the Willow-tree|
|The Mad Maid's Song|
|Comfort to a Youth that had lost his Love|
|A Child's Grace|
|Epitaph upon a Child that died (i)|
|Epitaph upon a Child that died (ii)|
|Litany to the Holy Spirit|
|Robert Herrick at amazon.co.uk|