"It is hard going to the door..."

It is hard going to the door
cut so small in the wall where
the vision which echoes loneliness
brings a scent of wild flowers in a wood.

What I understood, I understand.
My mind is sometime torment,
sometimes good and filled with livelihood,
and feels the ground.

But I see the door,
and knew the wall, and wanted the wood,
and would get there if I could
with my feet and hands and mind. ...(more)

From "The Door (I)" by Robert Creeley, 1959. Read the complete poem here.

The Path to Paradise, Dieric Bouts the Elder, 1450.