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.