When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink-in notes and numbers, such
As blessed souls can't hear too much
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranced, and lost confusedly;
And by thy music strucken mute,
Die, and be turn'd into a Lute. 

Added: Jun 8 2005 | Viewed: 839 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert Herrick
Poem: UPON JULIA'S VOICE

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