Reach with your whiter hands to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this--
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.
More verses by Robert Herrick
- An Epitaph Upon A Child
- How His Soul Came Ensnared
- Matins, Or Morning Prayer
- On A Perfumed Lady
- Loss From The Least