Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик))
Upon Julia’s Voice
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.
Robert Herrick’s other poems:
