Thelema ScholarTHE ALEISTER CROWLEY COLLECTION
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1914 · PDF PAGE 25

Chicago May

…bsence, a mere miserere sung, Seems dream. © moon! O mortifying moon! Quicken our love! O bring me to the hour, Minute and second when I lose, I lose All that I am in one fellatrix flower! Time, O the unsubstantial ! O the ooze Of nothingness! Come bring me to the kiss, ‘The comfort of thine all-availing breast | Bring me to the intolerable bliss ‘Whose recrudescence is eternal rest— Laylah! I come to you, I come to you— ‘Three thousand miles, what are they to a soul ‘Whose insight bafiles the blind blaze of blue With single effort to a single …

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1914 · PDF PAGE 20

Chicago May

…ef, a renegade, ‘To cheat at cards, to fight and flee A volunteer brigade Of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews With all to loot, and naught to lose. He failed to ogle men, but learnt ‘The art of bilking whores :— ‘The Turks, who should have had him burnt, But threw him out of doors. 19

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1914 · PDF PAGE 6

Chicago May

…e utmost star! Ah, no! the martyr asks his Lord For martyrdom as his reward. Give me my pain, and let me keep My love! T have no fear to lose My hate: While now she lies asleep, T have one moment's power to choose. I choose the cross. My love shall gain ‘The price of all my Judas-pain. Il Pure hate is like pure love, a calm, a flow Of the pure spirit in a single stream; No wave disturbs its depth ; no gleam or glow Of any light dares break on its supreme Annihilation of all less desires, ‘One dark fire that absorbs all shining fires. So I lie s…

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1914 · PDF PAGE 12

Chicago May

CHICAGO MAY XI ‘She never lets me from her sight an hour. On one excuse, five minutes and no more! ‘And then—even then !—she fears to lose her power. T hear her heavy breathing at the door: She listens. “What's he doing?” One confesses That one must leave you to a pair of guesses. r, she will send me out, some time she feels She is safe, and when my back is turned, she runs Through all my pockets eagerly, and steals Each scrap of writing. She was human once : Her thirty years of whoring have snowed under All traces of it; and, by God, no wonder…

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