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The Way of Love

It seemed to me just now as though the many doors through which I am accustomed to pass out into the freer world beyond the walls of this were suddenly shut fast against me, and through no efforts of mine could I reopen them.

Music was of no avail; an imp was seated on the lintel of the gate of Harmony. With leering grin and critically pointing linger another imp of evil sat at the door of Beauty. I tried to pass out by the way of Philosophy, but in the anguish of my heart I could nowhere find that gate. I turned down to the waterway of Style which passes near the gate of Poetry. The air was still as death: the water stank in the noonday sun. It was useless to embark, for the wind of inspiration which bloweth where it listeth, blew not.

Faint with, weariness, still craving for the open land beyond the city walls, I sank by the wayside weeping.

And behold, as I wept, a voice cried, "Knock and it shall be opened unto thee," and I turned and beheld the Way of Love beside me and I went forth rejoicing.

Evil events come from evil causes; and what we suffer springs from what we have done.
—Aristophanes

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F. A.

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