| 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 |
| |
|
[ The Retreat ] [ The Waterfall ] [ The World ] |
