I saw Eternity the other night |
Like a great Ring of pure and endless
light, |
All calm as it was bright ; |
And round beneath it, Time, in hours,
days, years, |
Driven by the spheres, |
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the
world |
And all her train were hurled. |
The doting Lover in his quaintest
strain |
Did there complain ; |
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his
flights, |
Wit’s sour delights ; |
With gloves and knots, the silly snares
of pleasure ; |
Yet his dear treasure |
All scattered lay, while he his eyes
did pour |
Upon a flower.
|
The darksome Statesman hung with
weights and woe, |
Like a thick midnight fog, moved there
so slow |
He did nor stay nor go ; |
Comdemning thoughts, like sad eclipses,
scowl |
Upon his soul, |
And clouds of crying witnesses without |
Pursued him with one shout. |
Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways
be found, |
Worked under ground, |
Where he did clutch his prey ; but One
did see |
That policy. |
Churches and altars fed him, perjuries
|
Were gnats and flies ; |
It rained about him blood and tears,
but he |
Drank them as free.
|
The fearful Miser on a heap of rust |
Sat pining all his life there, did
scarce trust |
His own hands with the dust ; |
Yet would not place one piece above,
but lives |
In fear of thieves. |
Thousands there were as frantic as
himself, |
And hugged each one his pelf. |
The downright Epicure placed heaven in
sense |
And scorned pretence ; |
While others, slipped into a wide
excess, |
Said little less ; |
The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares
enslave, |
Who think them brave ; |
And poor despisèd Truth sat counting by
|
Their victory.
|
Yet some, who all this while did weep
and sing, |
And sing and weep, soared up into the
Ring ; |
But most would use no wing. |
‘O fools’, said I, ‘thus to prefer dark
night |
Before true light, |
To live in grots, and caves, and hate
the day |
Because it shows the way, |
The way which from this dead and dark
abode |
Leads up to God, |
A way where you might tread the sun,
and be |
More bright than he.’ |
But as I did their madness so discuss, |
One whispered thus, |
This Ring the Bridegroom did for
none provide |
But for his Bride.
|
Henry
Vaughan |
Classic Poems |
|
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