Robert Herrick speaks directly to his dying brother, Master William Herrick. He begs him not to take flight so soon—to wait until they’ve had time for a tender goodnight. The speaker longs for the intimate gestures of leave-taking: weeping, kissing, sighing, shaking hands. Parting without them, he says, is a kind of hell for those who truly love. He then questions with aching directness: must they really go their separate ways forever without one sad look or solemn tear? A shift comes: if they must part, he will bequeath his heart into his brother’s hands, keeping none for himself, because his brother is his very pulse. What remains is a ghostly promise: he will stay by the urn, a harmless shade, guarding the ashes—those sacred seeds—so that nothing heavy ever harms them. The mood is intimate, mournful, and fiercely devoted, stretching love beyond the grave.
TO HIS DYING BROTHER, MASTER WILLIAM HERRICK — Summary
Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight, But stay the time till we have bade good-night. Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way As soon dispatch'd is by the night as day. Let us not then so rudely henceforth go Till we have wept, kiss'd, sigh'd, shook hands, or so. There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell When once true lovers take their last farewell. What? shall we two our endless leaves take here Without a sad look, or a solemn tear? He knows not love that hath not this truth proved, Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved. Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none To warm my breast, when thou, my pulse, art gone, No, here I'll last, and walk, a harmless shade, About this urn, wherein thy dust is laid, To guard it so, as nothing here shall be Heavy, to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.