Robert Herrick’s speaker leans toward some water-nymphs with a charming, lighthearted request. He asks them to reach into the spring with their pale hands and offer him a drink, certain that the mere presence of their touch will make fresh lilies bloom around the cup. If they would rather not, he offers an even simpler, more intimate alternative: just press your lips to the glass, and that single kiss will turn the water into wine. The whole moment feels suspended and enchanted, part gentle flirtation, part private fantasy. The speaker’s adoration never turns heavy; it stays playful, as if the natural world might actually bend to such beauty. There’s a warm, slightly mischievous intimacy here — an invitation wrapped in wonder, where ordinary water becomes something miraculous through the grace of a nymph’s gesture.
TO THE WATER-NYMPHS DRINKING AT THEFOUNTAIN — Summary
Reach with your whiter hands to me Some crystal of the spring; And I about the cup shall see Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this-- To th' glass your lips incline; And I shall see by that one kiss The water turn'd to wine.