Regeneration by Henry Vaughan

Spring is Easter is Passover is Life from Death:

Regeneration

A ward, and still in bonds, one day

I stole abroad;

It was high spring, and all the way

Primrosed and hung with shade;

Yet was it frost within,

And surly winds

Blasted my infant buds, and sin

Like clouds eclipsed my mind.

Stormed thus, I straight perceived my spring

Mere stage and show,

My walk a monstrous, mountained thing,

Roughcast with rocks and snow;

And as a pilgrim’s eye,

Far from relief,

Measures the melancholy sky,

Then drops and rains for grief,

So sighed I upwards still; at last

’Twixt steps and falls

I reached the pinnacle, where placed

I found a pair of scales;

I took them up and laid

In th’ one, late pains;

The other smoke and pleasures weighed,

But proved the heavier grains.

With that some cried, “Away!” Straight I

Obeyed, and led

Full east, a fair, fresh field could spy;

Some called it Jacob’s bed,

A virgin soil which no

Rude feet ere trod,

Where, since he stepped there, only go

Prophets and friends of God.

Here I reposed; but scarce well set,

A grove descried

Of stately height, whose branches met

And mixed on every side;

I entered, and once in,

Amazed to see ’t,

Found all was changed, and a new spring

Did all my senses greet.

The unthrift sun shot vital gold,

A thousand pieces,

And heaven its azure did unfold,

Checkered with snowy fleeces;

The air was all in spice,

And every bush

A garland wore; thus fed my eyes,

But all the ear lay hush.

Only a little fountain lent

Some use for ears,

And on the dumb shades language spent

The music of her tears;

I drew her near, and found

The cistern full

Of divers stones, some bright and round,

Others ill-shaped and dull.

The first, pray mark, as quick as light

Danced through the flood,

But the last, more heavy than the night,

Nailed to the center stood;

I wondered much, but tired

At last with thought,

My restless eye that still desired

As strange an object brought.

It was a bank of flowers, where I descried

Though ’twas midday,

Some fast asleep, others broad-eyed

And taking in the ray;

Here, musing long, I heard

A rushing wind

Which still increased, but whence it stirred

No where I could not find.

I turned me round, and to each shade

Dispatched an eye

To see if any leaf had made

Least motion or reply,

But while I listening sought

My mind to ease

By knowing where ’twas, or where not,

It whispered, “Where I please.”

“Lord,” then said I, “on me one breath,

And let me die before my death!”

Cant. chap. 5. ver. 17 [KJV Song of Solomon 4:16 ]

Arise O North, and come thou South-wind and blow upon my garden, that

the spices thereof may flow out.

HENRY VAUGHAN (1621-1695)


-more poetry by Henry Vaughan here