Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden
Henry Vaughan (16211695)Beyond the Veil
T
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
After the sun’s remove.
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have shew’d them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Shining no where, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust;
Could man outlook that mark!
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes
And into glory peep.
The captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock’d her up, gives room,
She ’ll shine through all the sphere.
Created glories under Thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
My perspective—still—as they pass:
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.