A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

137. TO HIS LOVELY MISTRESSES

     One night i'th' year, my dearest Beauties, come,
     And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb;
     When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise,
     And there to lick th' effused sacrifice,
     Though paleness be the livery that I wear,
     Look ye not wan or colourless for fear.
     Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show
     The least grim look, or cast a frown on you;
     Nor shall the tapers, when I'm there, burn blue.
     This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,—
     Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye;
     Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I've lost
     The world so soon, and in it, you the most:
     —Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall,
     Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.