On Joan.

Joan would go tell her hairs; and well she might,
Having but seven in all: three black, four white.

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 Sibilla.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To A Friend.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Julia's Clothes

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

God's Dwelling.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To His Girls

Wanton wenches do not bring
For my hairs black colouring:
For my locks, girls, let 'em be
Grey or white, all's one to me.

Robert Herrick

Upon Franck.

Franck would go scour her teeth; and setting to 't
Twice two fell out, all rotten at the root.

Robert Herrick

Upon Jone And Jane.

Jone is a wench that's painted;
Jone is a girl that's tainted;
Yet Jone she goes
Like one of those
Whom purity had sainted.

Jane is a girl that's pretty;
Jane is a wench that's witty;
Yet who would think,
Her breath does stink,
As so it doth? that's pity.

Robert Herrick

To Violets

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 graced,
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.

Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.

Robert Herrick

Upon One Who Said She Was Always Young.

You say you're young; but when your teeth are told
To be but three, black-ey'd, we'll think you old.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

The work is done: young men and maidens, set
Upon my curls the myrtle coronet
Washed with sweet ointments: thus at last I come
To suffer in the Muses' martyrdom;
But with this comfort, if my blood be shed,
The Muses will wear blacks when I am dead.

Robert Herrick