One night i'th' year, my dearest Beauties, come, <br />And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb; <br />When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise, <br />And there to lick th' effused sacrifice, <br />Though paleness be the livery that I wear, <br />Look ye not wan or colourless for fear. <br />Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show <br />The least grim look, or cast a frown on you; <br />Nor shall the tapers, when I'm there, burn blue. <br />This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,-- <br />Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye; <br />Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I've lost <br />The world so soon, and in it, you the most: <br />--Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall, <br />Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-lovely-mistresses/
