The Writing On the Ground

But need I say more? These few verses, briefly and with more restraint that I feel able to use, sum up my thesis. A SLIM GILT SOUL.* Few men are given, ‘twixt heaven and hell, ‘To play one part supremely well. On all time's tablets there are few Who make a first-rate show of two, While those who perfectly play three We knew not, until you were he. For what were lovelier on the lawn Than you, pearl-naked to the dawn, Wrapped in a scarlet dressing-gown Not thirty miles from London town, The " observed of all observers ""—save That Scotland Yard, serene and suav When trouble came, went tramping by ; Closed one, and winked the other eye. How pleasantly you must have smiled: ““T left them, and I left them wild Though certainly they had abhorred| The task of locking up a lord. For a more tragic role you played Your master neatly who betrayed. His shame and torture turned your leer To a snarl, your drab’s smile to a sneer; Quickened, when afterwards your help He needed, to a currish yelp. Now—-so the wheel of Fortune whirls !— Your kindly love for little girls And ardour for the fine old faith Makes all that past a wisp, a wraith. You patronise our Sunday schools, Pronounce on Grammar's darkest rules, Rebuke bad taste, irreverence, Heresy, humbug, and pretence. Your tepid verses come like boons To cheer Suburban afternoons; While Asquith, were he only wise, Would bid a Board of Morals rise ; Sure no one like yourself can be Past-Master in Virginity, Reprinted by permission from “The Winged Beetle,” by Aleister Crowley, 1910. ;