Lot
(By Aleister Crowley. From The Soul of Osiris.
'URN back from safety,
in my love abide,
‘Whose lips are warm as when, a virgin bride
I clung to thee ashamed and very glad,
Whose breasts are lordlier for the pain they had,
‘Whose
arms cleave closer than thy spouse’s own!
Thy spouse—O lover, kiss me, and atone!
All my veins burst for love, my ripe breasts beat
And lay their bleeding blossoms at thy feet!
Spurn me no more! O bid these strangers go;
Turn to my lips till their cup overflow;
* * * * * *
make delight the minister of pain,
pain the father of a new delight,
a lamp of torture for the night
to be borne without
a cry
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