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Home  »  Parnassus  »  Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.

To Live Merrily, and to Trust to Good Verses

Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

NOW is the time for mirth,

Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;

For the flowry earth,

The golden pomp is come.

The golden pomp is come;

For now each tree does wear,

Made of her pap and gum,

Rich beads of amber here.

Now reigns the Rose, and now

The Arabian dew besmears

My uncontrollèd brow,

And my retorted hairs.

Homer! this health to thee,

In sack of such a kind,

That it would make thee see,

Though thou wert ne’er so blind.

Next, Virgil I’ll call forth,

To pledge this second health

In wine, whose each cup’s worth

An Indian commonwealth.

A goblet next I’ll drink

To Ovid; and suppose

Made he the pledge, he’d think

The world had all one nose.

Then this immensive cup

Of aromatic wine,

Catullus, I quaff up

To that terse muse of thine.

Wild I am now with heat,

O Bacchus! cool thy rays;

Or frantic I shall eat

Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bays.

Round, round, the roof does run;

And being ravisht thus,

Come, I will drink a tun

To my Propertius.

Now, to Tibullus next,

This flood I drink to thee;

But stay, I see a text,

That this presents to me.

Behold! Tibullus lies

Here burnt, whose small return

Of ashes scarce suffice

To fill a little urn.

Trust to good verses then;

They only will aspire,

When pyramids, as men,

Are lost in the funeral fire.

And when all bodies meet

In Lethe, to be drowned;

Then only numbers sweet,

With endless life are crowned.