Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ST AETHELBURGA; FOR A PICTURE, by FORD MADOX FORD



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ST AETHELBURGA; FOR A PICTURE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Queen, saint, evangelist; sweet, patient, fain to wait
Last Line: She enters through that gate.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hueffer, Ford Hermann; Hueffer, Ford Madox
Subject(s): Aethelburga Of Kent (d. 647); Christianity; Courts & Courtiers; Kent, England; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens


St Aethelburga, daughter of Athelbert, King of Kent, wedded Aedwin, King of
Northumbria. Him and thereafter his whole folk she won for the worship of
Christianity. But in the end he was slain by Penda, a heathen, who took the
land. Then did St Aethelburga return into Kent and found the convent and church
at Lyminge, where she died.

To purge our minds of haste, pass from an age outworn
And travel to the depths of tranquil times long past;
Sinking as sinks a stone through waters of a tarn,
Be fitting things and meet:
And, look you, on our walls hang treasures from such depths.

QUEEN, saint, evangelist; sweet, patient, fain to wait
With crucifix in hand, broad brow and haloed crown
Half-hidden by the coif, she enters through that gate.
She enters through that door, where tapestry drawn back
Left seen, a moment since, an apple lawn; but moors
Spread far away beyond. That span of shorn green turf,
Won from the heather's grasp, will whisper of regret
For far-off swarded downs—
For far-off Kentish downs, soft sky and glint of sea,
Sweet chime of convent bells and flower scents of home.

Here, in a Northern land, where skies are grey and hearts
Are slow to gather warmth: where Truth is slow to spread.
And gibes spring swift to lips; home thoughts are bitter sweet.
Saint in a pagan court, Queen of a wav'ring King,
She murmurs inly, "Wait," clasps tight the crucifix,
Enters the narrow door and passes up the hall.
In those old homespun days, the voices of a court,
The whispers that are passed behind the dais-seats
By fearers of a frown, came to the war-lord's ear
In some shrewd jester's jape:
And some such licensed fool now voiced the folk for her.
These lovers of their mead, strong beef and rolling song,
Liked little her soft ways, her Friday fasts and chants
That rose and fell unmarked, unrhythmic and unrhymed—
Her sweet and silent ways and distant-gazing eyes.

"Mead and strong meats on earth and arrow flights on earth,
What boots the rest?" they said,
Questions their jester her:

"Oh, Queen, of fasting fain,
King's wife that scourge your flesh,
King's daughter sadly clad,
Sad shall be your estate, after sad faring here,
If you be laid i' the grave and find no future state."
To him the Queen:"True, son, but what shall be your fate,
If future state there be?" and crossed the rush-strewn floor,
Thanking the Lord that found shrewd answers for shrewd jests.
So fared she for awhile. In time her King was won,
Knelt in the font and sloughed, beneath Paulinus' hands
His scales of pagan sin. But when his time was come
Ill fared he 'fore his foes that sent his soul to God.

So turned the sad Queen back and sought her brother's land,
Just over those high downs, in a grey hollowed vale,
She built her nunnery and rested there awhile.
(Maybe her feet once trod this yielding sheep-cropped sward—
'Tis like her eyes once filled at sight of just that glint
Of distant sun-kissed sea, out where the hill drops down.)

So fared she for awhile, and when her time was come,
Down there in Lyminge Church, she laid her weary limbs.

And yet we see her stand: sad Queen, sweet, silent saint,
With crucifix clasped close, low brow and distant gaze
She enters through that gate.





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