Quote

I dare not ask a kiss I dare not beg a smile Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Proud
Lest
Grow
Kissed
Share
Kiss
Shall
Kissing
Grows
Dare
Asks
Thee
Desire
Smile
Lately
Might
Air
Utmost

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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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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. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
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You say to me-wards your affection's strong Pray love me little, so you love me long.
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A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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It takes great wit and interest and energy to be happy. The pursuit of happiness is a great activity. One must be open and alive. It is the greatest feat man has to accomplish.
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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup I'll drink to the garlands around it But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
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What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
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A little saint best fits a little shrine, A little prop best fits a little vine, As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
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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, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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