Henry Vaughan

(1621 - 23 April 1695 / Brecknockshire, Wales)

Come, Come ! What Do I Here? - Poem by Henry Vaughan

COME, come ! what do I here ?
Since he is gone
Each day is grown a dozen year
And each hour, one ;
Come, come !
Cut off the sum :
By these soil'd tears !
Which only Thou
Know'st to be true,
Days are my fears.
2.

There's not a wind can stir,
Or beam pass by,
But straight I think, though far,
Thy hand is nigh.
Come, come !
Strike these lips dumb :
This restless breath,
That soils Thy name,
Will ne'er be tame
Until in death.
3.

Perhaps some think a tomb
No house of store,
But a dark and seal'd up womb,
Which ne'er breeds more.
Come, come !
Such thoughts benumb :
But I would be
With him I weep
Abed, and sleep,
To wake in Thee.


Comments about Come, Come ! What Do I Here? by Henry Vaughan

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Monday, April 30, 2012



[Hata Bildir]