English poem

To M. Laurence Swetnaham.

Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee. Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please: How will it drop pure honey speaking these!

More by Robert Herrick

To Love.
To M. Denham On His Prospective Poem.
To M. Henry Lawes, The Excellent Composer Of His Lyrics.
To M. Kellam.
To M. Leonard Willan, His Peculiar Friend.
To Marigolds.
To Meadows
To Mistress Amy Potter.

All 1426 poems by Robert Herrick