If deare Anthea, my hard fate it be To live some few-sad-howers after thee: Thy sacred Corse with Odours I will burne; And with my Lawrell crown thy Golden Urne. Then holding up (there) such religious Things, As were (time past) thy holy Filitings: Nere to thy Reverend Pitcher I will fall Down dead for grief, and end my woes withall: So three in one small plat of ground shall ly, Anthea, Herrick, and his Poetry. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PRICE OF WOMEN by KAREN SWENSON JACOBITE'S TOAST (TO AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY) by JOHN BYROM O SLEEP, MY BABE! by SARA COLERIDGE THE ASSAULT HEROIC by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 43 by ALFRED TENNYSON IMITATRIX ALES by AULUS LICINIUS ARCHIAS |