Poem by Robert Herrick

To Laurels

A funeral stone
Or verse, I covet none;
But only crave
Of you that I may have
A sacred laurel springing from my grave:
Which being seen
Blest with perpetual green,
May grow to be
Not so much call'd a tree,
As the eternal monument of me.

1. To My Ill Reader
2. Kisses Loathsome
3. To Julia in the Temple
4. The Bracelet to Julia
5. To Dianeme (I could but see thee yesterday)

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