Quote

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.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Forever
Nowhere
Found
Rings
Else
Round
Love
Rounds
Sever
Endless
Flaw
Gold
Wedding
Prove
Ring
Pure
Flaws

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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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Feed him ye must, whose food fills you. And that this pleasure is like raine, Not sent ye for to drowne your paine, But for to make it spring againe.
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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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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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The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
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Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold New things succeed, as former things grow old.
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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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But here's the sunset of a tedious day, These two asleep are I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
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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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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
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Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
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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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