Robert Herrick Quotes

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.

If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

The rose petal floats on water. The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.

Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.

Music lives within thy lips Like a nightingale in roses.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks.

Poetry is something I love to do. Good poetry has an amazing ability to be communicative before it's even understood. I get emotional just from the beauty of words.

In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.

Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.

I liked Yeats! That wild Irishman. I really loved his love of language, his flow. His chaotic ideas seemed to me just the right thing for a poet. Passion! He was always on the right side. He may be wrongheaded, but his heart was always on the right side. He wrote beautiful poetry.

Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

I love to compare different time frames. Poetry can evoke the time of the subject. By a very careful choice of words you can evoke an era, completely throw the poem into a different time scale.

I've always loved the poetry in 'Pale Fire.' I think it's wonderful.

A thing may fail as a poem because it tries to do what a poem cannot do: it tries to become a treatise on cosmic truth... We can best be exact about the cosmic things - God and truth, beauty, eternity and love - by not talking directly about them.

And if you are a rose, I am rose-shadow.

Our love is like a red, red rose... and I am a little thorny.

Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.

How red the rose that is the soldier

Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly-wings and the scraps of torn-up love-letters.

If a kiss could be seen I think it would look like a violet.

A rose by any other name Would get the blame For being what it is-- The colour of a kiss, The shadow of a flame. A rose may earn another name, So call it love; So call it love I will, And love is like the sea, Which changes constantly, And yet is still The same.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.