---

Alfred Austin - The Door Of Humility
Work rating: Low

1 2 3 
   With the First Parents of us all,
 Jehovah thrust through Eden`s Gate,
   When Knowledge brought about their Fall.

 Hath Aphrodite into foam,
   Whence She first flowered, sunk back once more,
 And doth She nowhere find a home,
   Or worship, upon Christian shore?

 Her shrine is in the human breast,
   To find her none need soar or dive.
 Goodness or Loveliness our quest,
   The ever-helpful Gods survive.

 Hellas retorts, when Hebrew gibes
   At Gods of levity and lust,
 ``God of Judaea`s wandering tribes
   Was jealous, cruel, and unjust.``

 Godhead, withal, remains the same,
   And Art embalms its symbols still;
 As Poets, when athirst for Fame,
   Still dream of Aganippe`s rill.


L

 Why still pursue a bootless quest,
   And wander heartsore farther East,
 Because unanswered, south or west,
   By Pagan seer or Christian priest?

 Brahma and Buddha, what have they
   To offer to my shoreless search?
 ``Let Contemplation be,`` they say,
   ``Your ritual, Nothingness your Church.

 ``Passion and purpose both forsake,
   Echoes from non-existent wall;
 We do but dream we are awake,
   Ourselves the deepest dream of all.

 ``We dream we think, feel, touch, and see,
   And what these are, still dreaming, guess,
 Though there is no Reality
   Behind their fleeting semblances.``

 Thus the East answers my appeal,
   Denies, and so illudes, my want.
 Alas! Could I but cease to feel,
   Brahma should be my Hierophant.

 But, hampered by my Western mind,
   I cannot set the Spirit free
 From Matter, but Illusion find,
   Of all, the most illusory.


DELPHI


LI

 The morning mists that hid the bay
   And curtained mountains fast asleep,
 Begin to feel the touch of day,
   And roll from off both wave and steep.

 In floating folds they curve and rise,
   Then slowly melt and merge in air,
 Till high above me glow the skies,
   And cloudless sunshine everywhere.

 Parnassus wears nor veil nor frown,
   Windless the eagle wings his way,
 As I from Delphi gaze adown
   On Salona and Amphissa.

 It was the sovran Sun that drew
   Aloft and scattered morning haze,
 And now fills all the spacious blue
   With its own glorifying rays.

 And, no less sovran than the sun,
   Imagination brings relief
 Of morning light to shadows dun,
   To heart`s distress, and spirit`s grief.

 Parnassus boasts no loftier peak
   Than Poet`s heavenward song; which, though
 Harbouring among the sad and weak,
   Lifteth aloft man`s griefs below.

 Though sun-bronzed Phocian maidens lave
   Their kerchiefs in Castalia`s spring,
 The Muses linger round its wave,
   And aid the pilgrim sent to sing.

 And, listening there, I seem to hear
   The unseen Oracle say, ``Be strong:
 Subdue the sigh, repress the tear,
   And let not sorrow silence Song.

 ``You now have learnt enough from pain;
   And, if worse anguish lurk behind,
 Breathe in it some unselfish strain,
   And with grief`s wisdom aid your kind.

 ``Who but of his own suffering sings,
   Is like an eagle, robbed, distressed,
 That vainly shrieks and beats its wings,
   Because it cannot find its nest.

 ``Let male Imagination wed
   The orphan, Sorrow, to console
 Its virgin loneness, whence are bred
   Serenity and self-control.

 ``Hence let the classic breezes blow
   You to your Land beyond the sea,
 That you may make, for others` woe,
   Your own a healing melody;

 ``To wintry woe no more a slave,
   But, having dried your April tears,
 Behold a helpful harvest wave
   From ridges of the fallow years.``


LII

 Rebuked thus by the stately Past,
   Whose solemn choruses endure
 Through voices new and visions vast,
   And centuries of sepulture,

 Because, serene, it never blinked
   At sheen or shadow of the sun,
 But Hades and Olympus linked
   With Salamis and Marathon;

 Which held despondency at bay
   And, while revering Fate`s decree,
 Reconciled with majestic lay
   Man to the Human Tragedy;

 To Gods of every land I vowed,
   Judaea, Hellas, Mecca, Rome,
 No more to live by sorrow bowed,
   But, wending backward to my home,

 Thenceforth to muse on woe more wide
   Than individual distress,
 The loftier Muses for my guide,
   Minerva for my monitress;

 Nor yet to scorn the tender aid
   Of Christian martyr, virgin, sage,
 And, meekly pondering in the shade,
   Proffer ripe counsel to my Age.

 And, haply, since `tis Song alone
   Can baffle death, and conquer time,
 Maiden unborn in days unknown,
   Under the leaves of fragrant lime,

 Scanning the verse that here is writ,
   While cherishing some secret smart
 Of love or loss, may glean from it
   Some comfort for her weary heart;

 And, gently warned, grave minds may own
   The world hath more to bear than they,
 And, while I dream `neath mossy stone,
   Repeat my name, and love my lay.


LIII

 Scarce to the all-indwelling Power
   That vow was uttered, ere there came
 A messenger in boyhood`s flower,
   Winged with his search, his face aflame.

 From Amphissa he straight had clomb,
   Thridding that devious mountain land,
 With letter from my far-off home,
   And written by my Loved One`s hand.

 ``Come to me where I drooping lie.
   None yet have died of Love, they say:
 Withal, I sometimes think that I
   Have prayed and sighed my life away.

 ``I want your absolution, dear,
   For whatso wrong I may have done;
 My conscience waneth less severe,
   In softness of the setting sun.

 ```Twas I, `twas I, far more than you,
   That stood in need, as now I see,
 Stooping, to enter meekly through
   The Doorway of Humility.

 ``In vain I turn to Throne of Grace,
   Where sorrows cease, and tears are dry;
 I fain once more would see your face,
   And hear your voice, before I die.``


ENGLAND

 
LIV

 The oak logs smoulder on my hearth,
   Though round them hums no household talk;
 The roses in the garden-garth
   Hang mournfully on curving stalk.

 My wolf-hound round me leaps and bays,
   That wailed lost footsteps when I went:
 He little knows the grief that weighs
   On my return from banishment.

 Half Autumn now, half Summer yet,
   For Nature hath a human heart,
 It seems as though they, having met,
   To take farewell, are loth to part.

 The splendour of the Year`s decline
   Hath not yet come. One still can see
 Late honeysuckle intertwine
   With Maiden`s-Bower and briony.

 The bracken-fronds, fast yellowing, tower
   From out sere needles of the pine;
 Now hawkweed blooms where foxgloves flower,
   And bramble where once eglantine.

 And, as I wend with hurrying feet
   Across the park, along the lane
 That leads unto the hamlet street,
   And cradle of my bliss and bane,

 In cottage plots on either side,
   O`er mignonette and fragrant stock
 Soar tiger-lilies lithe and tall,
   And homely-sheltered hollyhock.

 And when I reach the low grey wall
   That skirts God`s-acre on the hill,
 I see, awaiting my recall,
   The Little Door stand open still.

 A dip, a slight descent, and then
   Into the Vicarage Walk I passed;
 It seemed as though the tongues of men
   Had left it since I saw it last.

 Round garden-plot, in westering sun,
   Her agëd parents slowly stepped:
 Her Mother had the face of one
   Who oft hath prayed, and oft hath wept.

 She wore the silent plaintive grace
   Of Autumn just before its close,
 And on her slowly fading face
   The pathos of November rose.

 With pitying gaze and accents kind,
   ``Go in,`` she said, ``and mount the stair;
 And you through open door will find
   That Monica awaits you there.``


LV

 I mounted. At half-open door
   Pausing, I softly called her name,
 As one would pause and halt before
   Heaven`s Gateway. But no answer came.

 She lies, methought, in Sleep`s caress,
   So, passing in, I seemed to see,
 So saintly white the vision, less
   A chamber than a Sanctuary.

 Vestured in white, on snow-white bed,
   She lay, as dreaming something sweet,
 Madonna lilies at her head,
   Madonna lilies at her feet.

 A thought, I did not dare to speak,-
   ``Is this the sleep of life or death?``
 And, with my cheek against her cheek,
   Listening, I seemed to hear her breath.

 `Twas Love`s last blindness not to see
   Her sinless soul had taken wing
 Unto the Land, if such there be,
   Where saints adore, and Seraphs sing.

 And yet I felt within my heart,
   Though lids were closed and lips were dumb,
 That, for Love`s sake, her soul in part
   Had lingered here, till I should come.

 I kissed her irresponsive hand,
   I laid my lips on her cold brow,
 That She, like me, should understand
   `Twas thus I sealed our nuptial vow.

 And then I saw upon her breast
   A something writ, she fain had said
 Had I been near, to me addressed,
   Which, kneeling down, I took and read.


LVI

 ``I prayed I might prolong my years
   Till you could come and hush my sighs,
 And dry my penitential tears;
   But Heaven hath willed it otherwise:

 ``That I may expiate the wrong
   By me inflicted on us both,
 When, yet Love`s novice, feebly strong,
   I sinned against Love`s sovran troth.

 ``Now Death, the mirror unto Life,
   Shows me that nought should keep apart
 Those who, though sore perplexed by strife
   `Twixt Faith and Doubt, are one in heart.

 ``For Doubt is one with Faith when they,
   Who doubt, for Truth`s sake suffering live;
 And Faith meanwhile should hope and pray,
   Withholding not what Love can give.

 ``We lead the blind by voice and hand,
   And not by light they cannot see;
 We are not framed to understand
   The How and Why of such as He,

 ``But natured only to rejoice
   At every sound or sign of hope,
 And, guided by the still small voice,
   In patience through the darkness grope;

 ``Until our finer sense expands,
   And we exchange for holier sight
 The earthly help of voice and hands,
   And in His light behold the Light.

 ``Had my poor Love but been more wise,
   I should have ta`en you to my breast,
 Striving to hush your plaintive cries,
   And rock your Reason back to rest.

 ``But, though alone you now must tread
   Where we together should have trod,
 In loneliness you may be led,
   Through faith in me, to Faith in God.

 ``With tranquil purpose, fervent mind,
   Foster, while you abide on earth,
 And humbly proffer to your kind,
   The gift assigned to you at birth.

 ``As in the far-off boyish year
   When did your singing voice awake,
 Disinterestedly revere
   And love it for its own great sake.

 ``And when life takes autumnal hues,
   With fervent reminiscence woo
 All the affections of the Muse,
   And write the poem lived by you.

 ``And should, until your days shall end,
   You still the lyric voice retain,
 With its seductive music blend
   A graver note, a loftier strain.

 ``While buoyant youth and manhood strong
   Follow where Siren sounds entice,
 The Deities of Love and Song,
   Rapture and loveliness, suffice.

 ``But when decay, and pain, and loss,
   Remind one of the Goal forgot,
 And we in turn must bear the Cross,
   The Pagan Gods can help us not.

 ``Nor need you then seek, far and near,
   More sumptuous shrines on alien strand,
 But with domestic mind revere
   The Ritual of your native Land.

 ``The Little Door stands open wide,
   And, if you meekly pass therethrough,
 Though I no longer kneel inside,
   I shall be hovering near to you.

 ``Farewell! till you shall learn the whole
   Of what we here but see in part.
 Now I to God commend my soul,
   And unto you I leave my heart.``


LVII

 I wended up the slope once more
   To where the Church stands lone and still,
 And passed beneath the Little Door,
   My will the subject of Her will.

 The sunset rays through pictured pane
   Fell, fretted into weft and woof,
 On transept, nave, and aisle, to wane
   On column cold and vaulted roof.

Within the carven altar screen
   Were lilies tall, and white, and fair,
 So like to those I late had seen,
   It seemed She must be sleeping there.

 Mutely I knelt, with bended brow
   And shaded eyes, but heart intent,
 To learn, should any teach me now,
   What Life, and Love, and Sorrow meant.

 And there remained until the shroud
   Of dusk foretold the coming night;
 And then I rose, and prayed aloud,
   ``Let there be Light! Let there be Light!``
Source
The script ran 0.006 seconds.