Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Henry Vaughan. 16211695364. The Timber
SURE thou didst flourish once! and many springs, | |
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, | |
Pass’d o’er thy head; many light hearts and wings, | |
Which now are dead, lodg’d in thy living bowers. | |
And still a new succession sings and flies; | 5 |
Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot | |
Towards the old and still enduring skies, | |
While the low violet thrives at their root. | |
But thou beneath the sad and heavy line | |
Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; | 10 |
Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, | |
Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. | |
And yet—as if some deep hate and dissent, | |
Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, | |
Were still alive—thou dost great storms resent | 15 |
Before they come, and know’st how near they be. | |
Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath | |
Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease; | |
But this thy strange resentment after death | |
Means only those who broke—in life—thy peace. | 20 |