Henry Vaughan





Henry Vaughan


Born
in Newton St. Briget, The United Kingdom
May 12, 1621

Died
April 23, 1695

Genre


Henry Vaughan was a Welsh author, physician and metaphysical poet.

Vaughan and his twin brother, the hermetic philosopher and alchemist Thomas Vaughan, were the sons of Thomas Vaughan and his wife Denise (née Morgan) of 'Trenewydd', Newton, in Brecknockshire, Wales. Their grandfather, William, was the owner of Tretower Court.

Vaughan spent most of his life in the village of Llansantffraed, near Brecon, where he is also buried.

Average rating: 3.93 · 854 ratings · 68 reviews · 42 distinct works · Similar authors
The Complete Poems

4.07 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 1981 — 3 editions
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A Great Ring of Pure and En...

4.56 avg rating — 9 ratings — published 2007 — 2 editions
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Henry Vaughan

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 10 ratings — published 1995
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Silex Scintillans

4.43 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 1650 — 5 editions
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A Selection Of The Poems Of...

3.75 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 1995
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The Works Of Henry Vaughan,...

4.75 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 1957 — 3 editions
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Poems of Henry Vaughan, Sil...

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 4 ratings — published 2009 — 2 editions
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Henry Vaughan: A Selection ...

really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 1976 — 2 editions
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Secular Poems, Including a ...

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The Works of Henry Vaughan,...

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More books by Henry Vaughan…
“I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light.”
Henry Vaughan

“There is in God (some say) a deep but dazzling darkness.”
Henry Vaughan

The Dawning

Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry,
The Bridegroom’s coming! fill the sky;
Shall it in the evening run
When our words and works are done?
Or will Thy all-surprising light
Break at midnight,
When either sleep or some dark pleasure
Possesseth mad man without measure?
Or shall these early, fragrant hours
Unlock Thy bow’rs,
And with their blush of light descry
Thy locks crown’d with eternity?
Indeed, it is the only time
That with Thy glory doth best chime;
All now are stirring, ev’ry field
Full hymns doth yield;
The whole Creation shakes off night,
And for Thy shadow looks the light;
Stars now vanish without number,
Sleepy Planets set and slumber,
The pursy Clouds disband and scatter,
All expect some sudden matter;
Not one beam triumphs but from far
That morning-star;

O at what time soever thou
(Unknown to us,) the heavens wilt bow,
And, with Thy angels in the van,
Descend to judge poor careless man,
Grant, I may not like puddle lie
In a corrupt security,
Where if a traveller water crave,
He finds it dead, and in a grave.
But as this restless, vocal spring
All day and night doth run, and sing,
And though here born, yet is acquainted
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted;
So let me all my busy age
In Thy free services engage;
And though (while here) of force I must
Have commerce sometimes with poor dust,
And in my flesh, though vile and low,
As this doth in her channel flow,
Yet let my course, my aim, my love,
And chief acquaintance be above;
So when that day and hour shall come,
In which Thyself will be the sun,
Thou’lt find me drest and on my way,
Watching the break of Thy great day.”
Henry Vaughan

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