Thelema ScholarTHE ALEISTER CROWLEY COLLECTION
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1912 · PDF PAGE 18

Household Gods

…ses! Is it not As if a Titan smote himself into the earth, And was caught into her, made one with her? Crassus. ‘The scent is fierce and hot Like a rutting panther's slot. Yet you are matched with mirth, Shaking each other like two wrestlers. Acta. ‘What should stir Your melancholy but laughter? Crassus. Look, before us Light streams, a tremulous chorus. Oh, it is vague and vacillatin; Aucta. Love, ‘Young love of maidens, is the soul thereof. And in the midst, behold, O man! The image of great Pan. at

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1912 · PDF PAGE 26

Household Gods

…t In mine, and fet our mouths mix at the last. [Zhe statue of PAN is seen to be alive. Pan. Shrill, shrill Over the hill! ‘The hunter is hot—this is the kill Scream! Scream! Dissolving the dream Of life, the knife to the heart of the wife! The fountain jets Its flood of blood, And the moss that it wets Is an amethyst flame of violets. ‘Who shall escape Murder and rape When I am alive in my solemn shape? Shrili, shrill, 29

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1912 · PDF PAGE 16

Household Gods

…tcta. The poisonous apple lures ‘Thus the boy’s mouth. Beware! Crassus. O you ate fairl Fairer than ever! In this tangle of trees, ‘Your hot breath wraps you in perfume. Aura. ‘There is some gloom or doom, A bitter harsh ingredient In these my sorceries Of animal scent. 1

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1912 · PDF PAGE 13

Household Gods

…he portico: Fear nothing; there is nothing you can know! And by these terraces and steps that gleam Wintry, although the summer night is hot, This—what we seek is never what we find! 16

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1912 · PDF PAGE 27

Household Gods

‘Over the hill! The hunter is hot—this is the kill! The heart of the home Is a fury of foam; ‘The storm is awake, and the billows comb. But though I be ‘Their frenzy of glee, I am also the passionless soul of the sea! Mine eyes glint fire, And my cruel lips curl; ‘Mine the desire Of the god and the girl; But fierier and fteeter, And subtler and sweeter Than the race of the rhythm, the march of the metre, Is the shrilling, sbrilling Of the knife in the killing That ends, when it must, (O the throb and the thrust!) In death, in the dust, The sile…

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