Sapho, I will chuse to go
Where the northern winds do blow
Endless ice, and endless snow;
Rather than I once would see
But a winter's face in thee,--
To benumb my hopes and me.
More verses by Robert Herrick
- A Panegyric To Sir Lewis Pemberton
- Mirth
- An Ode Of The Birth Of Our Saviour
- The Good-Night Or Blessing
- Oberon's Feast