Get Your Premium Membership

On Himself

 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.

Poem by Robert Herrick
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - On HimselfEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...



Summaries, Analysis, and Information on "On Himself"

More Poems by Robert Herrick


Book: Reflection on the Important Things