by Henry Vaughan

SILENCE and stealth of days !  'Tis now,
              Since thou art gone,
Twelve hundred hours, and not a brow
              But clouds hang on.
As he that in some cave's thick damp,
              Lock'd from the light,
Fixeth a solitary lamp
              To brave the night,
And walking from his Sun, when past
              That glimm'ring ray,
Cuts through the heavy mists in haste
              Back to his day ;
So o'er fled minutes I retreat
              Unto that hour,
Which show'd thee last, but did defeat
              Thy light and pow'r.
I search, and rack my soul to see
              Those beams again ;
But nothing but the snuff to me
              Appeareth plain :
That, dark and dead, sleeps in its known
              And common urn ;
But those, fled to their Maker's throne,
              There shine, and burn :
O could I track them !  but souls must
              Track one the other ;
And now the spirit, not the dust,
              Must be thy brother.
But I have one pearl, by Whose light
              All things I see ;
And in the heart of earth and night
              Find heaven, and thee.

Vaughan, Henry. The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, Ed. London, Lawrence & Bullen Ltd., 1896. 74-75.

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