A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick






25. CORINA'S GOING A MAYING

     Get up, get up for shame!  the blooming morn
     Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
     See how Aurora throws her fair
     Fresh-quilted colours through the air:
     Get up, sweet-slug-a-bed, and see
     The dew bespangling herb and tree.
     Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
     Above an hour since; yet you not drest,
     Nay!  not so much as out of bed?
     When all the birds have matins said,
     And sung their thankful hymns:  'tis sin,
     Nay, profanation, to keep in,—
     Whenas a thousand virgins on this day,
     Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

     Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen
     To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green,
     And sweet as Flora.  Take no care
     For jewels for your gown, or hair:
     Fear not; the leaves will strew
     Gems in abundance upon you:
     Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
     Against you come, some orient pearls unwept:
     Come, and receive them while the light
     Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
     And Titan on the eastern hill
     Retires himself, or else stands still
     Till you come forth.  Wash, dress, be brief in praying:
     Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying.

     Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark
     How each field turns a street; each street a park
     Made green, and trimm'd with trees:  see how
     Devotion gives each house a bough
     Or branch:  each porch, each door, ere this,
     An ark, a tabernacle is
     Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
     As if here were those cooler shades of love.
     Can such delights be in the street,
     And open fields, and we not see't?
     Come, we'll abroad:  and let's obey
     The proclamation made for May:
     And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
     But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.

     There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day,
     But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
     A deal of youth, ere this, is come
     Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
     Some have dispatch'd their cakes and cream,
     Before that we have left to dream:
     And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
     And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
     Many a green-gown has been given;
     Many a kiss, both odd and even:
     Many a glance, too, has been sent
     From out the eye, love's firmament:
     Many a jest told of the keys betraying
     This night, and locks pick'd:—yet we're not a Maying.

     —Come, let us go, while we are in our prime;
     And take the harmless folly of the time!
     We shall grow old apace, and die
     Before we know our liberty.
     Our life is short; and our days run
     As fast away as does the sun:—
     And as a vapour, or a drop of rain
     Once lost, can ne'er be found again:
     So when or you or I are made
     A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
     All love, all liking, all delight
     Lies drown'd with us in endless night.
     —Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
     Come, my Corinna!  come, let's go a Maying.

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