Thelema ScholarTHE ALEISTER CROWLEY COLLECTION
FOLLOW A WORD THROUGH THE COLLECTION

Search the corpus.

Phrase search ignores case and repeated whitespace. All-words search finds whole words anywhere on the same page. OCR errors can affect results.

8 matching pages

Page 1 of 1
1907 · PDF PAGE 29

Rodin in Rime

THE TOWER OF TOIL (LA TOUR DE TRAVAIL) HE old sun rolls; the old earth spins; Incessant labour bends the stars. Hath not enough of woes and sins — Passed? Who shall efface their senseless scars? One makes, one mars. The aeons foil All purpose; rise, O Tower of Toil. Rise in thy radiance to proclaim The agony of the earth alive! Stand by the sea, a marble flame, A lighthouse wedded to an hive! Still upward strive! O tower, arise An endless spiral to the skies! Stand on the weather-beaten coast A flaming angel in the noon; A silver, fascinated gh…

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 81

Rodin in Rime

…ght! Utmost imagination’s eagle-flight Out-soar!” But he, by his own force undone, His peacock pinions molten one by one, Falls to black earth through the impassive night. Lo! from uprushing earth arises love Ardent and secret, scented with the night, Amorous, ready. Sing the awakening bliss That catches him, from the inane above Hurled—nay, drawn down! What uttermost delight Dawns in that death! Icarus and Gaia kiss. 1 Called “ Fille d’Icare”’ by the distinguished anatomists, priceless idiots, and pragmatical precisians, who see nothing but a …

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 59

Rodin in Rime

Thou hast seen, thou hast showed, that as it was on earth So shall it be in resurrection birth. -The cycle of weariness and passionate pain Is and was ever and must be again. .There is no death! Ah! that is misery! For this, Lord Christ, is it that thou wouldst be, Thou yesterday, to-day, and thou to-morrow? The mystery of this our life is sorrow. BO

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 76

Rodin in Rime

…ature glows, Simple and sacred, with no thought of sin, Yet born to trouble us, to fascinate. Here we are, back i’ th’ springtime of the earth; God above man; and above God, dire fate. Ancient cosmogony of peace and mirth! Careless, we careless, do invoke thy rime Of the ancient rapture of the olden time. 48

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 75

Rodin in Rime

…oody sweat stood murderous On the writhen brow, the bosom of distress ? Ay! for his anguish thou art gain enough— One thought, worth all Earth’s fame, and gold, and love! 47

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 64

Rodin in Rime

… upon the forest: ‘groves are gray With filtered glamours of the day, the steely ray flung off his shield. She kneels, yon spirit of the earth; she kneels and looks toward the east. In her gray eyes awakes the beast from slumber into druid mirth. She is amazed, she eager, she, exotic orchid of the glade! She waits the ripe, exultant blade, life tempered by eternity. 40

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 32

Rodin in Rime

There is a flower of native light That springs eternal on the earth. Carve us, O master-hand, aright That ecstasy of pain and mirth, A baby’s birth! That prize of fear Engrave upon the loftiest tier! Nor in the solitary woe (The silent, the unwitting strain) Forget the miracles that grow In the austerely ordered brain! Darwin and Taine, Descartes and Boyle, Inscribe thou on the Tower of Toil! Those who have striven to limn the mind, Paint, model, tune, or hymn the light, Their vision of the world refined By mastery of superior sight: Honour the…

original embedded textRead original & transcription →
1907 · PDF PAGE 30

Rodin in Rime

…ed fair, And all that labour in the sea Sepulchred from the ambient air, A fatal weird of dole to dree. No time to be, no light to live, Earth’s need to these hath hope to give. Above be various shapes of labour, The bodily strength, the manual skill; They shape the anvil and the sabre, The ploughshare and the bolt; they fill The myriad will of brains that boil: Their fame be thine, O Tower of Toil! 16

original embedded textRead original & transcription →