Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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THE WHITE BOOK. |
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| VIII. |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
THE WHITE BOOK.
Who shall open the Book?—First, the reveller came
With lascivious look and the shadow of shame
And inglorious dust on his brow;
Though he reeked of the cup, yet he stoutly stood up
Fresh from breaking the holiest vow;
And the roses that clung to his forehead and hung
On the blighted remains of a man,
Had the vagrant and fragrant reproaching of wine
While accusing abusing of treasures divine,
And looked back to the lovelier plan;
But the White Book remained yet as solemn and sealed,
With its joys unexplained and its rest unrevealed.
With lascivious look and the shadow of shame
And inglorious dust on his brow;
Though he reeked of the cup, yet he stoutly stood up
Fresh from breaking the holiest vow;
And the roses that clung to his forehead and hung
On the blighted remains of a man,
Had the vagrant and fragrant reproaching of wine
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And looked back to the lovelier plan;
But the White Book remained yet as solemn and sealed,
With its joys unexplained and its rest unrevealed.
Who shall open the Book?—The philosopher came
From his studious nook and unblotted by blame,
And his front was a thunderous throne,
While his glorious eyes shone as infinite skies
From the work that was lofty and lone;
The imperious fire of his daring desire,
With the thoughts that had journeyed through space,
And yet travelled unravelled retreats of the truth
Gave a second unreckoned and mightier youth,
And like sunrise lay broad on his face;
But the White Book in awe and in secret composed,
Still remained with its law and the light undisclosed.
From his studious nook and unblotted by blame,
And his front was a thunderous throne,
While his glorious eyes shone as infinite skies
From the work that was lofty and lone;
The imperious fire of his daring desire,
With the thoughts that had journeyed through space,
And yet travelled unravelled retreats of the truth
Gave a second unreckoned and mightier youth,
And like sunrise lay broad on his face;
But the White Book in awe and in secret composed,
Still remained with its law and the light undisclosed.
Who shall open the Book?—Then the moralist came
With the shepherding crook and his virtuous fame,
And the Pharisee frowned from his dress,
In his forms so secure, with decorum demure
And his dogmas no more and no less;
But he set a cold hand like the winter's command
On the reverend tome as it lay,
With the sureness of pureness though merely on skin
If it varnished and garnished the outside of sin,
And he met a new terrible ray;
For the White Book remained in its mystical lore,
With the sense unattained and as dark as before.
With the shepherding crook and his virtuous fame,
And the Pharisee frowned from his dress,
In his forms so secure, with decorum demure
And his dogmas no more and no less;
But he set a cold hand like the winter's command
On the reverend tome as it lay,
With the sureness of pureness though merely on skin
If it varnished and garnished the outside of sin,
And he met a new terrible ray;
For the White Book remained in its mystical lore,
With the sense unattained and as dark as before.
Who shall open the Book?—Then a Pariah came,
And the passion that shook him was burning as flame—
He was ragged and troubled and torn;
But he thirsted for love, and his gaze looked above,
Though his bosom was pierced by the thorn;
And he knelt humbly down with the cross as his crown,
But in faith that would fashion a globe;
And his meanness grew cleanness before those great beams
While his craving was saving as poetry's dreams,
And his rags made the kingliest robe;
But the White Book in power to his beautiful care
Opened out like a flower, and its burden stood bare.
And the passion that shook him was burning as flame—
He was ragged and troubled and torn;
But he thirsted for love, and his gaze looked above,
Though his bosom was pierced by the thorn;
And he knelt humbly down with the cross as his crown,
But in faith that would fashion a globe;
And his meanness grew cleanness before those great beams
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And his rags made the kingliest robe;
But the White Book in power to his beautiful care
Opened out like a flower, and its burden stood bare.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |