Henry Vaughan

(1621 - 23 April 1695 / Brecknockshire, Wales)

Henry Vaughan Poems

1. The Storm 4/30/2012
2. The Daughter Of Herodias 4/30/2012
3. Thou That Know'st For Whom I Mourn 4/16/2010
4. The Shower (I) 4/16/2010
5. Vanity Of Spirit 4/16/2010
6. The Call 4/16/2010
7. The Incarnation, And Passion 4/16/2010
8. The Dwelling-Place 4/16/2010
9. The Dedication 4/16/2010
10. Vain Wits And Eyes 4/16/2010
11. Rules And Lessons 4/16/2010
12. The Dawning 4/16/2010
13. The Bird 4/16/2010
14. The Pursuit 4/16/2010
15. The Book 4/16/2010
16. Come, Come ! What Do I Here? 4/30/2012
17. The Night 4/16/2010
18. Content 4/30/2012
19. The Evening-Watch: A Dialogue 12/31/2002
20. As Time One Day By Me Did Pass 4/30/2012
21. Sweet Empty Sky Of June Without A Stain, 4/16/2010
22. The Relapse 1/3/2003
23. The Shepherds 1/3/2003
24. Upon The Priory Grove, His Usual Retirement 1/3/2003
25. The Nativity 1/3/2003
26. Mount Of Olives (I) 4/16/2010
27. Anguish 4/16/2010
28. The Revival 12/31/2002
29. Midnight 4/30/2012
30. Death. A Dialogue 4/16/2010
31. The Timber 1/3/2003
32. And Do They So? 4/16/2010
33. Unprofitableness 1/3/2003
34. Joy Of My Life While Left Me Here! 4/16/2010
35. Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophiae : Liber 2. Metrum 5 4/16/2010
36. Son-Days 1/3/2003
37. Beyond The Veil 4/16/2010
38. The Morning-Watch 12/31/2002
39. The True Christians 1/3/2003
40. Cock-Crowing 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Henry Vaughan

Friends Departed

They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and ...

Read the full of Friends Departed

Regeneration

1.

Award, and still in bonds, one day
I stole abroad,
It was high-spring, and all the way
Primros'd, and hung with shade;
Yet, was it frost within,
And surly winds
Blasted my infant buds, and sin

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