Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick spent his days tending a quiet parish in Devonshire, but his verses burst with the intoxicating urgency of youth itself. These are poems written by a clergyman who harbored a pagan soul: brief, gleaming lyrics that urge the reader to gather rosebuds before they fade, to drink wine beneath the moonlight, to steal kisses while love is still possible. Herrick's lines are meticulously crafted, each one a small perfect thing, shaped by his early training as a goldsmith and polished by his devotion to Ben Jonson's literary circle. He celebrates the physical world with almost reckless joy, finding the sacred in orchards and ale, in the curve of a cheek and the fleeting beauty of spring. Yet there is melancholy here too, a keen awareness that seasons turn and beauty withers. These poems do not ponder eternity; they live fiercely in the present moment, and they ask you to do the same. For anyone who believes poetry should feel like a glass of wine on a summer evening, Herrick remains irresistible.