English poet

Poems Comments

The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these,
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to all music now, since every thing
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.
Sick is the land to th' heart; and doth endure
More dangerous faintings by her desperate cure.
But if that golden age would come again,
And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;
If smooth and unperplex'd the seasons were,
As when the sweet Maria lived here;
I should delight to have my curls half drown'd
In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd:
And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead,
Knock at a star with my exalted head.



Poem topics: , , , , ,

Rate this poem:

Add The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad poem to your favorites

Add Poet Robert Herrick to your favorites

Popular Poets

Katharine Tynan (0 poems)
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (0 poems)
Anne Killigrew (0 poems)
Matthew Arnold (21 poems)
D. J. O'Malley (1 poems)
Edgar Lee Masters (246 poems)
Maxwell Struthers Burt (1 poems)
Joanna Baillie (1 poems)
Richard Francis Burton (4 poems)
Beaumont and Fletcher (5 poems)

Popular Poems

Chase Henry, by Edgar Lee Masters
Dødning-Gud Er Ei Vor Drot, by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig
On Seeing A Piece Of Our Artillery Brought Into Action, by Wilfred Owen
A Rondeau Of College Rhymes, by Henry Van Dyke
The Nightingale, by Bernard de Ventadorn
The Miracle Of Padre Junipero, by Bret Harte
Psalm 37 Part 2, by Isaac Watts
Ode - So Dear My Lucio Is To Me, by William Shenstone
Poems On Love, by Rabindranath Tagore
Aletheia To Phraortes, by Walter Savage Landor