I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal I write of youth, of love, and have access 5 UPON THE LOSS OF HIS I have lost, and lately, these Sapho next, a principal; 5 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; See where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674) THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK 20 Above an hour since: yet you not dressed; I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and Whenas a thousand virgins on this day bowers, Of April, May, of June and July-flowers; Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. |