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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.
Robert Herrick
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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Clothes
Kindles
Sweet
Lawns
Fine
Distraction
Disorder
Thrown
Dress
Wantonness
Shoulders
Cuffs
Dresses
Lawn
More quotes by Robert Herrick
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
Robert Herrick
Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
Robert Herrick
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Robert Herrick
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Robert Herrick
When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
Robert Herrick
Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
Robert Herrick
If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
Robert Herrick
Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
Robert Herrick
Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
Robert Herrick
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
Robert Herrick
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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And as this round (ring) is nowhere found to flaw, or else to sever. So let our love as endless prove and pure as gold forever.
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Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may The morrow's life too late is live to-day.
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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
Robert Herrick
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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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.
Robert Herrick