One night i’th’ year, my dearest Beauties, come,
And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb;
When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise,
And there to lick th’ effused sacrifice,
Though paleness be the livery that I wear,
Look ye not wan or colourless for fear.
Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show
The least grim look, or cast a frown on you;
Nor shall the tapers, when I’m there, burn blue.
This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,–
Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye;
Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I’ve lost
The world so soon, and in it, you the most:
–Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall,
Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.
To His Lovely Mistresses
Did you enjoy the the artible “To His Lovely Mistresses” from Robert Herrick on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply