Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the west; Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east. Alas! for me, that I have lost E'en all almost; Sunk is my sight, set is my sun, And all the loom of life undone: The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my vine did crawl, Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall. Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a phœnix re-aspire From out my nard and fun'ral fire: And as I prune my feathered youth, so I Do mar'l how I could die When I had thee, my chief preserver, by. I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand Which makes me stand Now as I do, and but for thee I must confess I could not be. The debt is paid; for he who doth resign Thanks to the gen'rous vine Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine. _Mar'l_, marvel. 186. TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK. Life of my life, 'take not so soon thy flight, But stay the time till we have bade good-night. Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way As soon despatch'd is by the night as day. Let us not then so rudely henceforth go Till we have wept, kissed, sigh'd, shook hands, or so. There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell, When once true lovers take their last farewell. What! shall we two our endless leaves take here Without a sad look or a solemn tear? He knows not love that hath not this truth proved, _Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved_. Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none To warm my breast when thou, my pulse, art gone. No, here I'll last, and walk (a harmless shade) About this urn wherein thy dust is laid, To guard it so as nothing here shall be Heavy to hurt those sacred seeds of thee. 187. THE OLIVE BRANCH. Sadly I walk'd within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way An olive branch before me lay, And seeing it I made a stay, And took it up and view'd it; then Kissing the omen, said Amen; Be, be it so, and let this be A divination unto me; That in short time my woes shall cease And Love shall crown my end with peace. 189. TO CHERRY-BLOSSOMS. Ye may simper, blush and smile, And perfume the air awhile; But, sweet things, ye must be gone, Fruit, ye know, is coming on; Then, ah! then, where is your grace, Whenas cherries come in place? 190. HOW LILIES CAME WHITE.