To Robin Red-Breast

A poem by Robert Herrick

Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
Here, Here the tomb of Robin Herrick is!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'To Robin Red-Breast' by Robert Herrick

comments powered by Disqus