knock at a star

I just read this poem aloud to my roommate, and it is exceedingly ridiculous. I have mixed feelings about a lot of the Cavalier poets, but this poem has my favorite title of possibly any poem ever, and is also hilarious, if only for its sheer passionate Royalism.

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to all music now, since everything
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.
Sick is the land to th' heart, and doth endure
More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure.
But if that golden age would come again
And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;
If smooth and unperplex'd the seasons were
As when the sweet Maria lived here;
I should delight to have my curls half drown'd
In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd.
And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead)
Knock at a star with my exalted head.

—Robert Herrick (1591-1674), "The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad" from Hesperides, 1648.