A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here,
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year;
Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true
But yet those years that I have lived, but few.
Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well:
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those three-score has not lived half three:
He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
More Poems by Robert Herrick
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on ON HIMSELF
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem ON HIMSELF here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.