Happy those early days, when I Shined in my angel-infancy! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught 5 But a white celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first Love, And looking back, at that short space, Could see a glimpse of his bright face; 10 When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound 15 My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. 20 Oh how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train; From whence the enlightened spirit sees 25 That shady City of palm-trees. But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; 30 And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came return. _Henry Vaughan._ CXXIX _A DROP OF DEW._ See, how the orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, Yet careless of its mansion new, For the clear region where ’twas born, 5 Round in itself incloses, And in its little globe’s extent, Frames, as it can, its native element. How it the purple flower does slight, Scarce touching where it lies; 10 But gazing back upon the skies, Shines with a mournful light, Like its own tear, Because so long divided from the sphere; Restless it rolls, and unsecure, 15 Trembling, lest it grow impure; Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again. So the soul, that drop, that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal day, 20 Could it within the human flower be seen, Remembering still its former height, Shuns the sweet leaves, the blossoms green; And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 25 The greater heaven in a heaven less. In how coy a figure wound, Every way it turns away: So the world excluding round, Yet receiving in the day; 30 Dark beneath, but bright above; Here disdaining, there in love. How loose and easy hence to go;