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Full Online Book HomePoemsCasimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxiii
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Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxiii Post by :sbtrue100 Category :Poems Author :Henry Vaughan Date :October 2011 Read :3383

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Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxiii

'Tis not rich furniture and gems,
With cedar roofs and ancient stems,
Nor yet a plenteous, lasting flood
Of gold, that makes man truly good.
Leave to inquire in what fair fields
A river runs which much gold yields;
Virtue alone is the rich prize
Can purchase stars, and buy the skies.
Let others build with adamant,
Or pillars of carv'd marble plant,
Which rude and rough sometimes did dwell
Far under earth, and near to hell.
But richer much--from death releas'd--
Shines in the fresh groves of the East
The ph(oe)nix, or those fish that dwell
With silver'd scales in Hiddekel.
Let others with rare, various pearls
Their garments dress, and in forc'd curls
Bind up their locks, look big and high,
And shine in robes of scarlet dye.
But in my thoughts more glorious far
Those native stars and speckles are
Which birds wear, or the spots which we
In leopards dispersed see.
The harmless sheep with her warm fleece
Clothes man, but who his dark heart sees
Shall find a wolf or fox within,
That kills the castor for his skin.
Virtue alone, and nought else can
A diff'rence make 'twixt beasts and man;
And on her wings above the spheres
To the true light his spirit bears.

(The end)
Henry Vaughan's poem: Casimirus, Lyric(orum) Lib. III. Ode XXIII

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Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iv. Ode Xv Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iv. Ode Xv

Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iv. Ode Xv
Nothing on earth, nothing at all Can be exempted from the thrall Of peevish weariness! The sun, Which our forefathers judg'd to run Clear and unspotted, in our days Is tax'd with sullen eclips'd rays. Whatever in the glorious sky Man sees, his rash audacious eye Dares censure it, and in mere spite At distance will condemn the light. The wholesome mornings, whose beams clear Those hills our

Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxii Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxii

Casimirus, (lyricorum) Lib. Iii. Ode Xxii
Let not thy youth and false delights Cheat thee of life; those heady flights But waste thy time, which posts away Like winds unseen, and swift as they. Beauty is but mere paint, whose dye With Time's breath will dissolve and fly; 'Tis wax, 'tis water, 'tis a glass, It melts, breaks, and away doth pass. 'Tis like a rose which in the dawn The air with gentle breath doth fawn