The Tear Sent To Her From Staines

Glide, gentle streams, and bear
Along with you my tear
      To that coy girl
      Who smiles, yet slays
      Me with delays,
And strings my tears as pearl.

See! see, she’s yonder set,
Making a carcanet
      Of maiden-flowers!
      There, there present
      This orient
And pendant pearl of ours.

Then say I’ve sent one more
Gem to enrich her store;
      And that is all
      Which I can send,
      Or vainly spend,
For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply
Of them, the spring’s once dry;
      But I’ll devise,
      Among the rest,
      A way that’s best
How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say — should she condemn
Me to surrender them
      Then say my part
      Must be to weep
      Out them, to keep
A poor, yet loving heart.

Say too, she would have this;
She shall: then my hope is,
      That when I’m poor
      And nothing have
      To send or save,
I’m sure she’ll ask no more.
The Tear Sent To Her From Staines

by Robert Herrick, 1648
