Robert Herrick’s advice to young women is blunt yet musical: snatch up life and love before your beauty fades. The speaker feels like a cheerful, insistent friend—no finger-wagging, just an eager nudge to act now. His images show how fast things vanish: rosebuds that “tomorrow will be dying,” the sun as a “glorious lamp” racing to set. You feel the warmth of a single fleeting day, and a tiny chill underneath. The mood is playfully urgent, like laughing while someone whispers “hurry.” Each short stanza trips forward, matching time’s flight. When he finally says “go marry,” it’s a teasing, tender push—if you dawdle, you risk tarrying forever, alone and regretful. The breezy rhymes almost hide the weight of the warning: youth isn’t a renewable resource.
To Virgins, to Make Much of Time — Summary
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time, And, while ye may, go marry; For, having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.