I use the word with intended precision.
Here is one, the end of which is not so good, poetically considered, as the magnificent beginning, but which contains striking lines throughout:-- THE DAWNING.
Ah! what time wilt thou come?
When shall that cry, _The Bridegroom's coming_, fill the sky?
Shall it in the evening run When our words and works are done?
Or will thy all-surprising light Break at midnight, When either sleep or some dark pleasure Possesseth mad man without measure?
Or shail these early, fragrant hours Unlock thy bowers,[151] And with their blush of light descry Thy locks crowned with eternity?
Indeed, it is the only time That with thy glory doth best chime: All now are stirring; every field Full hymns doth yield; The whole creation shakes off night, And for thy shadow looks the light;[152] Stars now vanish without number; Sleepy planets set and slumber; The pursy clouds disband and scatter;-- All expect some sudden matter; Not one beam triumphs, but, from far, That morning-star.
O, at what time soever thou, Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, And, with thy angels in the van, Descend to judge poor careless man, Grant I may not like puddle lie In a corrupt security, Where, if a traveller water crave, He finds it dead, and in a grave; But as this restless, vocal spring All day and night doth run and sing, And though here born, yet is acquainted Elsewhere, and, flowing, keeps untainted, So let me all my busy age In thy free services engage; And though, while here, of force,[153] I must Have commerce sometimes with poor dust,[154] And in my flesh, though vile and low, As this doth in her channel, flow, Yet let my course, my aim, my love, And chief acquaintance be above.
So when that day and hour shall come, In which thyself will be the sun, Thou'lt find me drest and on my way, Watching the break of thy great day.
I do not think that description of the dawn has ever been surpassed.

The verse "All expect some sudden matter," is wondrously fine.

The water "dead and in a grave," because stagnant, is a true fancy; and the "acquainted elsewhere" of the running stream, is a masterly phrase.

I need not point out the symbolism of the poem.
I do not know a writer, Wordsworth not excepted, who reveals more delight in the visions of Nature than Henry Vaughan.

He is a true forerunner of Wordsworth, inasmuch as the latter sets forth with only greater profundity and more art than he, the relations between Nature and Human Nature; while, on the other hand, he is the forerunner as well of some one that must yet do what Wordsworth has left almost unattempted, namely--set forth the sympathy of Nature with the aspirations of the spirit that is born of God, born again, I mean, in the recognition of the child's relation to the Father.