THREE POEMS FOR JANE CHERON
Then—even then—we are here,
Jeanne!
We love—we shall die, sweet heart, take cheer,
Jeanne I
We are bound to a fate that brings release;
We move in a moi] that must one day cease;
We shall win to the everlasting peace,
Jeanne!
And how things are, and why, and whence
Are puzzles for fools that lack the sense
Of cows—enough of the future tense,
Jeanne!
For the end of love and the end of art
Is just—my ear against your heart!
ALEISTER CROWLEY.
51