Poem by Robert Herrick

Upon Julia's Voice

When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink-in notes and numbers, such
As blessed souls can't hear too much
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranced, and lost confusedly;
And by thy music strucken mute,
Die, and be turn'd into a Lute.

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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