Here you will find the Poem Quickness of poet Henry Vaughan
False life, a foil and no more, when Wilt thou be gone? Thou foul deception of all men That would not have the true come on. Thou art a moon-like toil, a blind Self-posing state, A dark contest of waves and wind, A mere tempestuous debate. Life is a fixed, discerning light, A knowing joy; No chance or fit, but ever bright And calm and full, yet doth not cloy. 'Tis such a blissful thing that still Doth vivify And shine and smile and hath the skill To please without eternity. Thou art a toilsome mole, or less; A moving mist; But life is what none can express: A quickness which my God hath kissed.
