HENRY VAUGHAN
Were all my loud, evil days Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark Tent, Whose peace but by some Angels wing or voice
Is seldom rent;
Then I in Heaven all the long year Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the Sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre Themselves and others, I consent and run
To ev'ry myre,
And by this worlds ill-guiding light, Erre more then I can do by night.
There is in God (some say) A deep, but dazling darkness; as men here Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear; O for that night' where I in him Might live invisible and dim.
��577 Nature, Man, Eternity
��The Bird
HITHER thou com'st: the busy wind all night Blew thro' thy lodging, where thy own warm win Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm (For which coarse man seems much the fitter born) Rained on thy bed And harmless head:
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