Quickness
False life, a foil and no more, when
Wilt thou be gone?
Thou foul deception of all men
That would not have the true come on.
Thou art a moon-like toil, a blind
Self-posing state,
A dark contest of waves and wind,
A mere tempestuous debate.
Life is a fixed, discerning light,
A knowing joy;
No chance or fit, but ever bright
And calm and full, yet doth not cloy.
'Tis such a blissful thing that still
Doth vivify
And shine and smile and hath the skill
To please without eternity.
Thou art a toilsome mole, or less;
A moving mist;
But life is what none can express:
A quickness which my God hath kissed.
Henry Vaughan
Henry Vaughan, (born April 17, 1622, Llansantffraed, Breconshire, Wales—died April 23, 1695, Llansantffraed), Anglo-Welsh poet and mystic remarkable for the range and intensity of his spiritual intuitions. Educated at Oxford and studying law in London, Vaughan was recalled home in 1642 when the first Civil War broke out, and he remained there the rest of his life.