Yet it is not the ruggedness of the Devon land we feel in Herrick’s poems.  We feel rather the beauty of flowers, the warmth of sun, the softness of spring winds, and see the greening trees, the morning dews, the soft rains.  It is as if he had not let his eyes wander over the wild Devonshire moorlands, but had confined them to his own lovely garden and orchard meadow, for he speaks of the “dew-bespangled herb and tree,” the “damasked meadows,” the “silver shedding brooks.”  Hardly any English poet has written so tenderly of flowers as Herrick.  One of the best known of these flower poems is To Daffodils.

“Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain’d his noon. 
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the Even-song;
And, having pray’d together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything. 
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
Ne’er to be found again.”

And here is part of a song for May morning:—­

“Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.

See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air: 
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree,
Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the east
Above an hour since; yet you not dress’d;
Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
When all the birds have matins said
And sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark to fetch in May.

    Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
    To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green
        And sweet as Flora.  Take no care
        For jewels for your gown or hair;
        Fear not; the leaves will strew
        Gems in abundance upon you: 
    Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
    Against you come, some orient pearls unwept;
        Come and receive them while the light
        Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: 
        And Titan on the eastern hill
        Retires himself, or else stands still
    Till you come forth.  Wash, dress, be brief in praying;
    Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.”

Another well-known poem of Herrick’s is:—­

    “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
        Old Time is still a-flying: 
    And this same flower that smiles to-day,
        To-morrow will be dying.

    The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
        The higher he’s a-getting,
    The sooner will his race be run,
        And nearer he’s to setting.

    That age is best, which is the first,
        When Youth and Blood are warmer: 
    But being spent, the worse, and worst
        Times still succeed the former.