Robert Herrick.
CHERRY RIPE.
"Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe," I cry,
"Full and fair ones—come and buy;"
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, "There,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;"
There's the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow!
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-morrow will be dying.