The Poetry Corner

An Hymn To Love.

By Robert Herrick

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, That let her lay On me all day, I'll kiss the hand that strikes me. I will not, I, Now blubb'ring, cry, It, ah! too late repents me, That I did fall To love at all, Since love so much contents me. No, no, I'll be In fetters free: While others they sit wringing Their hands for pain, I'll entertain The wounds of love with singing. With flowers and wine, And cakes divine, To strike me I will tempt thee: Which done; no more I'll come before Thee and thine altars empty.