Verse > Anthologies > T. H. Ward, ed. > The English Poets > Vol. II. Ben Jonson to Dryden
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Thomas Humphry Ward, ed.  The English Poets.  1880–1918.
Vol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
 
Ode to Endymion Porter
By Robert Herrick (1591–1674)
 
    NOT all thy flushing suns are set,
            Herrick, as yet;
    Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
    Frown and look sullen everywhere;
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest        5
            As dead within the West,
Yet the next morn regild the fragrant East.
 
    Alas! for me! that I have lost
            E’en all, almost!
    Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,        10
    And all the loom of life undone;
The staff, the elm, the prop, the sheltering wall
            Whereon my vine did crawl,
Now, now blown down; needs must the old stock fall.
 
    Yet, Porter, while thou keep’st alive,        15
            In death I thrive,
    And like a Phoenix re-aspire
    From out my nard and funeral fire,
And as I prime my feathered youth, so I
            Do marvell how I could die        20
When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.
 
    I’m up, I’m up, and bless that hand,
            Which makes me stand
    Now as I do, and, but for thee,
    I must confess, I could not be;        25
The debt is paid, for he who doth resign
            Thanks to the generous Vine,
Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.
 
 
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