#Robert Herrick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-evil-clergyman · 1 year

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Ye Hag, from Selections from the Poetry of Robert Herrick by Edwin Austin Abbey (1882)

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scrappycam · 3 months

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"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may"

"Old time is still a-flying"

"And this same flower that smiles today"

"Tommorow will be dying"

- Robert herrick [to the virgin's to make much of the time]

(gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tommorow will be dying)

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garbagegirlblog · 1 month

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A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

Delight in Disorder BY ROBERT HERRICK

#delight in disorder #robert herrick #lust for life #hyper feminine #poetry #girl blogger #poem #poetry quotes #female hysteria #girlblogging

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ballumville · 1 month

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'Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; Then to that twenty, add a hundred more: A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.'

Can we start the Ballum love all over again? Please...💖💞💘

#ballum #callum highway #ben mitchell #eastenders #tony clay #max bowden #they are so beautiful #lgbtq #quotes #loveislove #robert herrick #The piano- 1990

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poemoftheday · 21 days

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Poem of the Day 3 April 2024

Robert Herrick. 1591-1674

To the Willow-tree

THOU art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest, And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn: Then willow-garlands 'bout the head Bedew'd with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lovers' bane, Poor maids rewarded be For their love lost, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid Come to weep out the night.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #robert herrick

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hana-artie · 1 year

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"Whenas in silks my Oswald goes,…"

(hands up who knows the poem✋ of course, without the modification😅)

But yeah, it was my inspiration for this~😊 Just a moment of relaxation for Oswald, in his own place, in more comfortable clothes~

(I think Edward would die seeing him like this😅…)

#gotham #gotham fanart #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #fanart #my art #robin lord taylor #robert herrick

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nichse · 10 months

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Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.

#robert herrick #to the virgins to make much of time #Dead Poets Society #Robin Williams

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pearlsoflongago · 2 months

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March Botanicals

A Glory of New Blooms

Jonquilles by Claude Monet

To Daffodils

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.

—Robert Herrick

Basket of Primulas by Koloman Moser

Primroses in the Wood Appear

Primroses in the woods appear Their sulphur coloured flowers Are the wan heralds of the year In March's varying hours

And by the mossy hedge they spring In sulphur shining bloom What time the thrush begins to sing And sallow catkins come

Beneath the white thorn vivid green How beautiful they look Maple and hazle bush beturns Beside the gulphing brook

How sweetly shine the fairey flowers Near gravel paved streams Foretelling Aprils dewy showers As rich as Julias dreams

Green linnets peck the pated flowers In March's kindling vest I'll crop some blooms in these wild hours For Julia's happy breast

—John Clare

Girl by a Flowering Hawthorn Bush by Carl Larsson

Down Here the Hawthorn

Down here the hawthorn.... And a stir of wings, Spring-lit wings that wake Sudden tumult in the brake, Tumult of blossom tide, tumult of foaming mist Where the bright bird's tumultuous feathers kissed. White mists are blinding me, White mist of hedgerow, white mist of wings. Down here the hawthorn And a stir of wings.... Softly swishing, swift with spray All along the green laneway Dewdimmed, sunwashed, windsweet and winter-free They flash upon the light, They swing across the sight, I cannot see, I cannot see!... Down here the flowering hawthorn flings Sleet of petals, petalled shells Spread the coloured air that sings Magic and a myriad spells Spun by my count of Springs. Down here the hawthorn.... And the flower-foam stirred By a Spring-lit bird. White hawthorn mist is blinding me. I lower my gaze, and on this old Brown bridle road Crusted with golden moss and mould The hedgerow flings Lush carpetings, Blossom woven carpetings light lain Under the farmer's lumbering load; And, floating past the spent March wrack, The footstep trail, the traveller's track. Down here the hawthorn.... White mists are blinding me, White mists that rime the fresh green bank Where fernleaf-fall And sorrel tall Upwaving, rank on rank, Shall flush the bed whereon the windflowers sank. I turn these Spring-bewildered eyes of mine, I seek above the surf of hedgerow line Where peeping branches reach, and reaching twine Faint cherry or plum or eglantine. But with pretence of whisperings The year's young mischief-wind shall take By storm these shy striplings, And soon or later shake Their slender limbs, and make Free with their clinging may-- Strip from them in a single boisterous day Their first and last vesture of pale bloom spray. So, as to meet such lack In bush or brack, The kindly hedgerows make Sure of a Springtime for these frailer things, Shedding on each the lavish creamthorn flake. Down here the hawthorn.... On all the green leaf-clusters round me clings Thickly a spray of gentle blossomings Everywhere as with many bells The young year with white magic swells. The morning rings. White mist is blinding me, I cannot see, I cannot see! Blind grows the coloured air that sings The marvel of a myriad spells Spun by my count of Springs. Sleet of petals, petalled shells Falling with sudden poignancy (As the sleet stings) Upon the lightheart-hope which only clear sight knows. And slowly drifts, Lingering among the snows Nor, though the snow lifts, Ever goes The wistful heartache as the fresh Spring flows With slipping sureness to the time of the rose, and the withered rose. Down here the hawthorn.... And heaping blossom stirred By a joy-swift bird. White mists are blinding me, White mist of hedgerow, white mist of wings. The bird's flight flings Deep carpetings Over the wrack Of my life's track. Down here the hawthorn.... The air of coloured years is blurred By the Spring, by a bird. White mists are blinding me, White mists on the years to be. I cannot see, I cannot see....

—Thomas Moult

Daffodils by Berthe Morisot

#March poetry #literature #poetry #classic academia #classic #light academia #dark academia #inspiration #john clare #robert herrick #claude monet #berthe morisot #Kolomon Moser #daffodil #primroses #hawthorn

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pimpernelthescarlet · 3 months

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I believe this epigraph is simply called “Writing”

#robert herrick #english civil war #Robert Herrick is currently in control of my life

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wellconstructedsentences · 9 months

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From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,

From Murders Benedicite.

From all mischances, they may fright

Your pleasing slumbers in the night:

Mercie secure ye all, and keep

The Goblin from ye, while ye sleep.

The Bellman by Robert Herrick

#robert herrick #poetry #the bellman

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disease · 2 years

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“The Funeral Rites of the Rose”

THE Rose was sick and smiling died; And, being to be sanctified, About the bed there sighing stood The sweet and flowery sisterhood: Some hung the head, while some did bring, To wash her, water from the spring; Some laid her forth, while others wept, But all a solemn fast there kept: The holy sisters, some among, The sacred dirge and trental sung. But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere, As Heaven had spent all perfumes there. At last, when prayers for the dead And rites were all accomplished, They, weeping, spread a lawny loom, And closed her up as in a tomb.

—ROBERT HERRICK | XVII CENT.

#text #robert herrick #poetry #poem #memento mori #literature #17th century #u

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sharkonasock · 1 year

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there's something so satisfying about hearing someone bring up a piece of media INSIDE your piece of media. Like yes I D O know this poem bc it was in dead poets society...let's discuss themes pls

#dead poets society #to the virgins #robert herrick #dps #QUEEN QUEEN PLS #TAKE ABT SYMBOLISM W ME #PLSSSSSSSS

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travsd · 2 years

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Happy St. Bartholomew's Day

Happy St. Bartholomew’s Day

After our last post, you may think it impossible for us to get any more Anglophile on Travalanche today. Challenge accepted! For August 24 is traditionally St. Bartholomew’s Day, the traditional opening day for one of London’s great annual festivals, Bartholomew Fair, which was held from 1133 to 1855. Readers of this blog and my book No Applause know of my love for traditional European fairs,…