THE DWELLING-PLACE by Henry Vaughan What happy, secret fountain, Fair shade or mountain, Whose undiscovered virgin glory Boasts it this day, though not in story, Was then thy dwelling ? Did some cloud, Fixed to a tent, descend and shroud My distressed Lord ? Or did a star Beckoned by thee, though high and far, In sparkling smiles haste gladly down To lodge light, and increase her own ? My dear, dear God ! I do not know What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how ; But I am sure, thou dost now come Oft to a narrow, homely room, Where thou too hast, but the least part, My God, I mean my sinful heart. A Treasury of Seventeenth-Century English Verse. H. J. Massingham, Ed. London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1931. 224-225.
|