Poem by Robert Herrick

To Anthea (Now is the time when all the lights wax dim)

Now is the time when all the lights wax dim;
And thou, Anthea, must withdraw from him
Who was thy servant:  Dearest, bury me
Under that holy-oak, or gospel-tree;
Where, though thou see'st not, thou may'st think upon
Me, when thou yearly go'st procession;
Or, for mine honour, lay me in that tomb
In which thy sacred reliques shall have room;
For my embalming, Sweetest, there will be
No spices wanting, when I'm laid by thee.

1. Upon Mrs Eliz. Wheeler, under the Name of Amarillis
2. The Lily in a Crystal
3. Upon Love: By Way of Question and Answer
4. Orpheus
5. To the Water-Nymphs Drinking at the Fountain

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