To the Western Wind

Sweet western wind, whose luck it is,
Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna's lip a kiss,
And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,
Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
And all beset with flowers.

More poems by Robert Herrick

To the Virgins

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day …
To the Virgins, to make much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day …
To the Willow-tree

Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest, …
A venyige

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