My soul would one day go and seek
For roses, and in Julia's cheek
A richess of those sweets she found,
As in another Rosamond;
But gathering roses as she was,
Not knowing what would come to pass,
it chanced a ringlet of her hair
Caught my poor soul, as in a snare;
Which ever since has been in thrall;
--Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
More verses by Robert Herrick
- Matins, Or Morning Prayer
- On A Perfumed Lady
- Loss From The Least
- To Robin Red-Breast
- I Call And I Call