Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

HER eyes the glow-worme lend thee,

The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow,

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o’-th’-Wispe mislight thee,

Nor snake nor slow-worme bite thee;

But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there’s none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber,

What though the moon do slumber?

The starres of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers cleare, without number.

Then, Julia, let me wooe thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me;

And when I shall meet

Thy silvery feet,

My soule I’ll poure into thee.