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. ;