I ask'd thee oft what poets thou hast read,
And lik'st the best? Still thou repli'st, The dead.
--I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be;
Then sure thou'lt like, or thou wilt envy, me.
More verses by Robert Herrick
- The Bleeding Hand; Or The Sprig Of Eglantine Given To A Maid
- Man's Dying-Place Uncertain
- Upon Wrinkles
- The Parliament Of Roses To Julia
- Upon Tears