Robert Herrick

To-morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise,For some small fault to offer sacrifice:

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyesWhich starlike sparkle in their skies;

When a daffodil I see,Hanging down his head towards me,

Here a pretty baby liesSung asleep with lullabies:

This day, my Julia, thou must makeFor Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:

Display thy *******, my Julia—there let meBehold that circummortal purity,