To Lar.

A poem by Robert Herrick

No more shall I, since I am driven hence,
Devote to thee my grains of frankincense;
No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down,
To honour thee, my little parsley crown;
No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring
My chives of garlic for an offering;
No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir
Of merry crickets by my country fire.
Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here,
Warm by a glitt'ring chimney all the year.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'To Lar.' by Robert Herrick

comments powered by Disqus

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