Robert Herrick’s speaker ticks off a list of women he’s recently lost—stately Julia, principal Sapho, smooth-skinned Anthea, sweet Electra, musical Myrha, witty Corinna, graceful Perilla. He praises each for a distinct charm, flipping through a mental album of past loves with a light, almost playful tone. The quick succession of names creates a sense of plenty suddenly erased, making the final isolation sharper. When the catalogue ends, the mood flips: all are gone, and only the speaker remains, alone and burdened by sorrows so heavy he expects to die. The poem moves from fond recollection to theatrical despair, capturing a melodramatic pang of abandonment. It’s a brief, elegant sigh—part celebration of beauty, part exaggerated grief.
UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES — Summary
I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses:-- Stately Julia, prime of all; Sapho next, a principal: Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrha, for the lute and voice. Next, Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it; With Perilla:--All are gone; Only Herrick's left alone, For to number sorrow by Their departures hence, and die.