 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 their complain, near him his loot, his fancy, and his flights, wit soured lights. 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 dark some statesmen hung with weights and woe, like a thick midnight fog moved there so slow, he did nor stay nor go, condemning thoughts like sad eclipses a scow upon his soul. And clouds of crying witnesses without pursued him with one shout, yet dig the mole, and lest his ways be found worked underground, where he did clutch his pray, 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, set pining all his life there, did scarce trust his own hands with the dust, but 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 pretense. While others slipped into a wide excess, said little less, the weaker sorts slight, trivial wares and slave, who think them brave and poor, despise truth, set 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. Oh 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 the 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. 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 their complain. Near him his lute, his fancy and his flights wit 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 dark some statesmen hung with weights and woe, like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow, he did nor stay nor go. Condemning 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 underground. 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 set pining all his life there, did scarce trust his own hands with the dust, but 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 pretense, while others slipped into a wide excess, said little less. The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, who think them brave, and poor despise at truth set 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. Oh 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 the 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. THE WORLD by Henry Vaughan Red for LibriVox.org by Wedschild I saw eternity the other night, like a ring of pure and endless light, all calm as it was bright, and round beneath it, time and 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 and his quaintest strain did their complain, near him his loot, his fancy and his flights, wits, sour delights, with gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, yet his dear treasure all scattered lay, while 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, condemning thoughts like sad eclipses scowl upon his soul, and clouds of crying witness without pursuit him with one shout, yet digged the mole, unless his ways be found worked underground, 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, but would not place one piece above, but lives in fear of thieves, thousands were as frantic as himself and hugged each one to his pelf, the downright epicure placed heaven in sense and scorned pretenance, while others slipped into a wide excess and said little less, the weaker sorts like trivial wares and slave who think them brave, and poor despised truths at counting by their victory, yet some, who all this wild did weep and sing and weep, sort 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 that leads from the 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 disgust, one whispered thus, the ring his bridegroom did for none provide but his bride. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The World by Henry Vaughan Read for LibriVox.org by Martin Geeson in Hazelmayer Surrey 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 their complain. Near him his loot, his fancy and his flights, wit 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. Condemning 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 underground, 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, but 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 in slave, who think them brave, and poor despised truth sat counting by their victory. Yet some, who all this wilded weep and sing, and sing and weep, soared up into the ring, but most would use no wing. Oh 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 the 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The World by Henry Vaughan Read for LibriVox.org by Sean Michael Hogan July 27, 2009, St. John's Newfoundland, Canada 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 their complain. Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights wits 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 dark some statesmen hung with weights and woe, like a thick midnight fog moved there so slow he did nor stay nor go. Condemning 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 underground, 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, but 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 and slave who think them brave. And poor despise of truth sat counting by their victory. Yet some, who all this wild did weep and sing and sing and weep sort 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 the 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.