Aleister Crowley
Long Odds
How many million galaxies there are Who knows? and each has countless stars in it, And each rolls through eternities afar Beneath the threshold of the Infinite. How is it that will all that
The Four Winds
The South wind said to the palms: My lovers sing me psalms; But are they as warm as those That Laylah’s lover knows? The North wind said to the firs: I have my worshippers;
Boo to Buddha
So it is eighteen years, Helena, since we met! A season so endears, Nor you nor I forget The fresh young faces that once clove In that most fiery dawn of love. We wandered
The Five Adorations
I praise Thee, God, whose rays upstart beneath the Bright And Morning Star: Nowit asali fardh salat assobhi allahu akbar. I praise Thee, God, the fierce and swart; at noon Thou ridest Forth to
Elegy
Here rests beneath this hospitable spot A youth to flats and flatties not unknown. The Plymouth Brethren gave it to him hot; Trinity, Cambridge, claimed him for her own. At chess a minor master,
The Atheist
Nor thou, Habib, nor I are glad, When rosy limbs and sweat entwine; But rapture drowns the sense and self, The wine the drawer of the wine, And Him that planted first the grape-
At Sea
As night hath stars, more rare than ships In ocean, faint from pole to pole, So all the wonder of her lips Hints her innavigable soul. Such lights she gives as guide my bark;
The Hermit
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT [Dedicated to George Cecil Jones] At last an end of all I hoped and feared! Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard. Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
The Interpreter
Mother of Light, and the Gods! Mother of Music, awake! Silence and speech are at odds; Heaven and Hell are at Stake. By the Rose and the Cross I conjure; I constrain by the
Independence
Come to my arms – is it eve? is it morn? Is Apollo awake? Is Diana reborn? Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hush Is it the nightingale? Is it
At Bordj-an-Nus
El Arabi! El Arabi! Burn in thy brilliance, mine own! O Beautiful! O Barbarous! Seductive as a serpent is That poises head and hood, and makes his body tremble to the drone Of tom-tom
Lyric of Love to Leah
Come, my darling, let us dance To the moon that beckons us To dissolve our love in trance Heedless of the hideous Heat & hate of Sirius- Shun his baneful brilliance! Let us dance
Arhan
When the chill of earth black-breasted is uplifted at the Glance Of the red sun million-crested, and the forest blossoms Dance With the light that stirs and lustres of the dawn, and with The
The Tent
Only the stars endome the lonely camp, Only the desert leagues encompass it; Waterless wastes, a wilderness of wit, Embattled Cold, Imagination’s Cramp. Now were the Desolation fain to stamp The congealed Spirit of
The Titanic
Forth flashed the serpent streak of steel, Consummate crown of man’s device; Down crashed upon an immobile And brainless barrier of ice. Courage! The grey gods shoot a laughing lip: – Let not faith