That Satyr he but burnt his lips;
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.
Robert Herrick
LINES HAVE THEIR LININGS, AND BOOKS THEIR BUCKRAM.
As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks,
Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.
_Farcing_, stuffing.
562. ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA.
When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so:
I must confess mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.
_Civility_, order.
564. UPON HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS BRIDGET HERRICK.
Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them
And smelt them, then they smelt to me
As blossoms of the almond tree.
565. UPON LOVE.
I played with Love, as with the fire
The wanton Satyr did;
Nor did I know, or could descry
What under there was hid.
That Satyr he but burnt his lips;
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.
_The wanton Satyr_, see Note.
566. UPON A COMELY AND CURIOUS MAID.
If men can say that beauty dies,
Marbles will swear that here it lies.
If, reader, then thou canst forbear
In public loss to shed a tear,
The dew of grief upon this stone
Will tell thee pity thou hast none.
567. UPON THE LOSS OF HIS FINGER.
One of the five straight branches of my hand
Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall, which soon will be;
First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree.
568. UPON IRENE.
Angry if Irene be
But a minute's life with me:
Such a fire I espy
Walking in and out her eye,
As at once I freeze and fry.
569. UPON ELECTRA'S TEARS.
Upon her cheeks she wept, and from those showers
Sprang up a sweet nativity of flowers.
NOTES.
As in our clothes, so likewise he who looks,
Shall find much farcing buckram in our books.
_Farcing_, stuffing.
562. ART ABOVE NATURE: TO JULIA.
When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so:
I must confess mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.
_Civility_, order.
564. UPON HIS KINSWOMAN, MISTRESS BRIDGET HERRICK.
Sweet Bridget blush'd, and therewithal
Fresh blossoms from her cheeks did fall.
I thought at first 'twas but a dream,
Till after I had handled them
And smelt them, then they smelt to me
As blossoms of the almond tree.
565. UPON LOVE.
I played with Love, as with the fire
The wanton Satyr did;
Nor did I know, or could descry
What under there was hid.
That Satyr he but burnt his lips;
But mine's the greater smart,
For kissing Love's dissembling chips
The fire scorch'd my heart.
_The wanton Satyr_, see Note.
566. UPON A COMELY AND CURIOUS MAID.
If men can say that beauty dies,
Marbles will swear that here it lies.
If, reader, then thou canst forbear
In public loss to shed a tear,
The dew of grief upon this stone
Will tell thee pity thou hast none.
567. UPON THE LOSS OF HIS FINGER.
One of the five straight branches of my hand
Is lop'd already, and the rest but stand
Expecting when to fall, which soon will be;
First dies the leaf, the bough next, next the tree.
568. UPON IRENE.
Angry if Irene be
But a minute's life with me:
Such a fire I espy
Walking in and out her eye,
As at once I freeze and fry.
569. UPON ELECTRA'S TEARS.
Upon her cheeks she wept, and from those showers
Sprang up a sweet nativity of flowers.
NOTES.
