On Himself

A poem by Robert Herrick

I'll write no more of love, but now repent
Of all those times that I in it have spent.
I'll write no more of life, but wish 'twas ended,
And that my dust was to the earth commended.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'On Himself' by Robert Herrick

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy