Saturday, September 09, 2006

The World
by Henry Vaughan

I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,
All calm as it was bright ;
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurled.
The doting Lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain ;
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit’s sour delights ;
With gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure ;
Yet his dear treasure
All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flower.

The darksome Statesman hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow
He did nor stay nor go ;
Comdemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found,
Worked under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey ; but One did see
That policy.
Churches and altars fed him, perjuries
Were gnats and flies ;
It rained about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.

The fearful Miser on a heap of rust
Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust ;
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.
Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugged each one his pelf.
The downright Epicure placed heaven in sense
And scorned pretence ;
While others, slipped into a wide excess,
Said little less ;
The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them brave ;
And poor despisèd Truth sat counting by
Their victory.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing and weep, soared up into the Ring ;
But most would use no wing.
‘O fools’, said I, ‘thus to prefer dark night
Before true light,
To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day
Because it shows the way,
The way which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God,
A way where you might tread the sun, and be
More bright than he.’
But as I did their madness so discuss,
One whispered thus,
This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide
But for his Bride.

This poem seems to strike me alot, especially so recently. my favourite being the opening.the 17th century was an ingenious one i must say. but i suppose the novelty of medivial pleasure will wear off over time, even though many of us may be tempted to return back to the so called simple life. although, in my opinion, the simple life was really in terms of its simplistic machinery and not the way people thought or lived, for relationships were just as complex, intentions were probably just as perverse and thoughts just as riddled, for i would say human nature has stood the test of time, where it is people who complex the world and not really the things they create or live with. why cant things be simple and direct? honest simplicity. now that would be my utopia.

hmmm i wonder whats with the sudden change of my entries. must be the exams. should have taken lit instead of econs. oh well..my disillusioned utopia here i come for from now on, im going to make things as simple and as un-complex as i possibly can. life's too short waiting and spent wasting ,deciphering out coded signals. ahhh..the honest joy of true simplicty in perfect motion =)


Posted by shellsofsilence at 2:12 PM