That hour-glass which there you see
With water fill'd, sirs, credit me,
The humour was, as I have read,
But lovers' tears incrystalled.
Which, as they drop by drop do pass
From th' upper to the under-glass,
Do in a trickling manner tell,
By many a watery syllable,
That lovers' tears in lifetime shed
Do restless run when they are dead.
More verses by Robert Herrick
- To His Girls
- His Litany, To The Holy Spirit
- Men Mind No State In Sickness
- The Hock-Cart, Or Harvest Home:To The Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl Of Westmorland
- Upon Julia's Voice