Poems for Adult Bardic

[Ashley Smith]

As promised, here is the poem by Robert Herrick (1591-1674), "Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast."  Herrick wrote several poems concerning Julia; anyone concerned about references to Her Majesty but still wishing to use Herrick's poetry would do well to examine these others - they are lovely.  

I have also included a piece by John Donne (1573-1631), who IMHO, wrote some of the most sensual, splendid love poetry in the history of English literature (until James I induced him to take orders, where eventually he became the Dean of St. Paul's and turned his pen to more ecclesiastical matters.  These are very goodas well - Devotion 17 "Now this Bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die," should be familiar to some...but I digress)

On to the poetry!


Robert Herrick
"Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast"

Have ye beheld, with much delight,
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry, double graced,
Within a lily's center placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

John Donne
"Elegy XX: To His Mistree Going To Bed"

<<Read this with a voice of anticipated, impatient passion, and you will have every lord reaching for his lady, and every lady fanning herself with the hem of her gown.  At least, that's my reaction.  Passionate stuff...>>

Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy;
Until I labor, I in labor lie.
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bedtime.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadems which on you do grow.
Off with you hose and shoes; then softly tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be 
Revealed to men; thou, angel, bring'st with thee
A heaven-like Mahomet's paradise, and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite:
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, and below.
O, my America, my Newfoundland,
My kingdom, safest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery;
How am I blest in thus discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
Full nakedness!  All joys are due to thee;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys.  Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ball cast in men's views;
That, when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul might court that, not them.
Like pictures, or like book's gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
-Whom their imputed grace will dignify-
Must see revealed.  Then, since that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself, cast all, yea, this white linen hence;
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?


Both poems taken from _Love Poems of Robert Herrick and John Donne_ Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick, N.J., 1948.

Again, if there are any other works someone would like to see, drop me email.
Please, excuse me, I must find my fan...


Dierdre O'Faighertaigh
Barony of Bjornsborg

(aka Ashley Smith  asmith at cs.trinity.edu)