Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
Robert Herrick (15911674)Ode to Endymion Porter
N
Herrick, as yet;
Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
Frown and look sullen everywhere;
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
As dead within the West,
Yet the next morn regild the fragrant East.
E’en all, almost!
Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,
And all the loom of life undone;
The staff, the elm, the prop, the sheltering wall
Whereon my vine did crawl,
Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall.
In death I thrive,
And like a Phoenix re-aspire
From out my nard and funeral fire,
And as I prime my feathered youth, so I
Do marvell how I could die
When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.
Which makes me stand
Now as I do, and, but for thee,
I must confess, I could not be;
The debt is paid, for he who doth resign
Thanks to the generous Vine,
Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.