William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
ChildhoodHenry Vaughan (16211695)
I
Dazzles at it, as at eternity.
Those white designs which children drive,
And the thoughts of each harmless hour,
With their content too in my pow’r,
Quickly would I make my path ev’n,
And by mere playing go to heaven.
A wolf, more than a lamb or dove?
Or choose hell-fire and brimstone steams
Before bright stars and God’s own beams?
Who kisseth thorns will hurt his face,
But flowers do both refresh and grace;
And sweetly living—fie on men!—
Are, when dead, medicinal then;
If seeing much should make staid eyes,
And long experience should make wise;
Since all that age doth teach is ill,
Why should I not love childhood still?
Why, if I see a rock or shelf,
Shall I from thence cast down myself?
Or by complying with the world,
From the same precipice be hurled?
Those observations are but foul,
Which make me wise to lose my soul.
Business, and weighty action all,
Checking the poor child for his play,
But gravely cast themselves away.
Where weeping virtue parts with man;
Where love without lust dwells, and bends
What way we please without self-ends.
Must live twice that would God’s face see;
Which angels guard, and with it play,
Angels! which foul men drive away.
Thee more than e’er I studied man,
And only see through a long night
Thy edges and thy bordering light!
O for thy centre and midday!
For sure that is the narrow way!