Henry Vaughan (1621–95) was an Anglo-Welsh metaphysical poet, author, translator, and physician. He is remembered for his remarkable range and intensity of his spiritual intuitions. The religious verse of George Herbert inspired his metaphysical poetry.
Born in Newton-by-Usk, Breconshire, Wales, Vaughan was educated at Jesus College, Oxford. He studied law in London but was recalled home when the first Civil War broke out, and he resided there for the rest of his life.
Vaughan styled himself the ‘Silurist’ as a native of South Wales, the land of the ancient tribe of Silures. In 1646, he published Poems, with the tenth Satyre of Juvenal Englished. He took his M.D. and practiced as a physician first in Brecon and then in Newton-by-Usk.
Vaughan’s mystical and religious poems include Silex Scintillans (1650, “Sparkling Flint”) and Olar Iscanus (1651.) He also wrote prose, including The Mount of Olives (1652,) which showed the depth of his Anglican convictions and his poetic genius’s authenticity.
Vaughan’s Thalia Rediviva: The Pastimes and Diversions of a Country Muse (1678,) a collection of elegies, translations, and religious pieces, was published without his authority.
Vaughan’s poetry gained prominence during the revival of interest in John Donne and other 17th-century metaphysical poets in the 20th century. L. C. Martin produced a popular edition of Vaughan’s Works (1914; revised 1957.)
Syracuse University’s Robert Allen Durr wrote The Mystical Poetry of Henry Vaughan (1962.)
More: Wikipedia • READ: Works by Henry Vaughan
So stick up ivy and the bays, and then restore the heathen ways, green will remind you of the Spring, though this great day denies the thing, and mortifies the earth, and all, but your wild revels, and loose hall.
—Henry Vaughan
Topics: Christmas, Holidays
To God, thy country, and thy friend be true, then thou’lt ne’er be false to any one.
—Henry Vaughan
Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there
—Henry Vaughan
Topics: Discontent
Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; Keep clean, be as fruit, earn life, and watch, Till the white-wing’d reapers come.
—Henry Vaughan
Topics: Growth
Caesar had perished from the world of men, had not his sword been rescued by his pen.
—Henry Vaughan
Topics: History
They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.
—Henry Vaughan
Topics: Aging, Age