Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Henry Vaughan (16221695)The World
THOU art not Truth! for he that tries | |
Shall find thee all deceit and lies. | |
Thou art not Friendship! for in thee | |
’Tis but the bait of policy; | |
Which like a viper lodged in flowers | 5 |
Its venom through that sweetness pours. | |
And when not so, then always ’tis | |
A fading paint, the short-lived bliss | |
Of air and humour, out and in, | |
Like colours in a dolphin’s skin. | 10 |
Thou art not riches! for that trash, | |
Which one age hoards, the next doth wash | |
And so severely sweep away, | |
That few remember where it lay. | |
So rapid streams the wealthy land | 15 |
About them have at their command, | |
And shifting channels here restore, | |
There break down what they bank’d before. | |
Thou art not Honour! for those gay | |
Feathers will wear and drop away; | 20 |
And princes to some upstart line | |
Give new ones that are full as fine. | |
Thou art not Pleasure! For thy rose | |
Upon a thorn doth still repose, | |
Which, if not cropt, will quickly shed, | 25 |
But soon as cropt grows dull and dead. | |
Thou art the sand which fills one glass, | |
And then doth to another pass; | |
And could I put thee to a stay, | |
Thou art but dust. Then go thy way, | 30 |
And leave me clean and bright though poor; | |
Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; | |
And, swallow-like, when he hath done, | |
To unknown dwellings must be gone. | |