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…irth shoots a shaft, weighed down by age, That strikes the target, death. Then come, thou golden goblet brimmed With lust! Though all be vain, Theres hope for us, the lion-limbed, In hashish and cocaine. Though death should hale us by the scruff Of neck tos mouldy portal, To-night let us get drunk enough To know we are immortal!
…acquiesce in the nature implied; If change be the purpose of Love, I am launched and afloat on the tide. I accept every phantom of Mind, vain dreams in fatuity curled; I accept the corruption of Body, delight to bring Death to the world. In measureless madness I bask, I gloat upon carrion flesh. I wallow with God in the mire, and of mire I create Him afresh. There is naught, nor shall be, that my love cannot gnaw with insatiate tooth: I will wring forth the Truth from the lies as I once found the lies in the Truth. Astarte, I know thee for rott…
… stupor and storm, when I and my shadow had kissed, And brought into life all the shapes that confused the clear space with their marks, Vain spectres whose vapour escapes, a whirlwind of ruinous sparks, No substance have any of these; I have dreamed them in sickness of lust, Delirium born of diseaseah, whence was the master, the must Imposed on the All?is it true, is it true, then, that something in me Is subject to fate? Are there two, are there two, after all, that can be? I have brought all that is to an end; for myself am sufficient an…
… Knows neither the world nor itself, nor stands for an hour but it tires. It struts in its pageant of pride, yet at heart is aware it is vain, And its summit of proof is to prove nothing proven, and itself but insane. The soul, ah the flame! Ah, the star! The God in us shining above! The soul, beyond being and form! Then is not the name of it Love? Nay, darker and deeper the curse, more dread the abyss never plumbed, The horror ineffably huge, the agony not to be summed; For the soul in itself is division, is separate, worse that its wings Were…
…ught. Still as I sit, and destroy all possible trace of the past, All germ of the future, nor joy nor knowledge alive at the last, It is vain, for the Silence is dowered with a nature, the seed of a name: Necessity, fearfully flowered with the blossom of possible Aim. I am Necessity? Scry Necessity mother of Fate! And Fate determines me I; and I have the Will to create. Vast is the sphere, but it turns on itself like the prettiest star, And I am the looby that learns that all things equally are. Inscrutable Nothing, the Gods, the cosmos of Fi…