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…these among A cabbage-headed god they own, With wandering eye and jabbering tongue. He, rotting in that grimy sewer And charnel-house of death and dung, Shrieks : “ How the air is sweet and pure! Give me the entrails of a frog And I will teach thee! Lo! the lure F 81
…these among A cabbage-headed god they own, With wandering eye and jabbering tongue. He, rotting in that grimy sewer And charnel-house of death and dung, Shrieks : “ How the air is sweet and pure! Give me the entrails of a frog And I will teach thee! Lo! the lure F 81
38 TABLE OF CORRESPONDENCES Cox. II. (continued)— Also— Gates of Death. »» 99 Shadow of Death. »» 9) Dears. 99 yuvevee Gate of D shter of Mighty Ones. Daughterof Eden. Also— Inferior Mother— The Daughter. The Bride. abs The Virgin. SIN] Cot. IV.—This column may be equally well sym- bolised by any single entry, preferably in 0. The Monistic and Nihilistic gonceptions are con- vertible. Hua may be e Noumenon, and the like. qualy na pared Tao, Iao, age on this subject is necessarily feeble and Snierogly phic, It is to name that which by definition…
…ro Movement of love’s desire too strong to know Or care for that it takes its substance of— As if life’s burden were not drear enough Or death’s deliverance not so far and slow. Our bodies almost perish, with one thought Crowned and completed, consecrate and shrined : A perfect temple of fine amber wrought, Whose shrine’s the body and whose lamp the mind. The heart is priest and sacrifice in one ; And, where it sinned or sorrowed, shall atone. 87
…il in my ear may show me: ‘* For Johnthe Baptist’s head—so danced Salome!”? VIII. Then, in God’s name forbear! It does not matter. Life, death, strength, weakness, are but idle chatter. Nothing is lost or gained, we know too well. For heaven they balance us an equal hell. We discard both ; an infinite Universe Remains; we sum it up—an infinite curse. So—am I aman? I lack my wife’s embrace. Am I outworn? I see the harlot’s face. Is the love better and the knowledge worse? Shall I seek knowledge and count love disgrace? Where is the profit in so …
…ie into dreams of my lover, To wake with his mouth like a dove Kissing me over and over. Better sleep so Than be conscious, and know How death hath a charm to discover. 53
…another. This is the climax, first and last. We stand upon the summit. Mother Of ages, daughter of ages, cast The fatal die, and turn to death! Let evolution turn, involving As when the gray sun sickeneth— Ghostly September! so dissolving Into the pale eternal breath. When all is done, shall this be said. When all is said, shall this be done, The aeon exhaust and finished, And slumber steal upon the sun, My dear, when you and I are dead. 27
…eless “oughts” and fatuous “ musts.” “ All the delusions ” (argueth The ass), “all uproars, surely rise From that curst Me whose name is Death, Whereas the Questing Beast belies 67
…t. Then blew Each angel on his trumpet, then All Heaven resounded that it knew Sir Palamede the Saracen Was master! Through the domes of death, Through all the mighty realms of men And spirits breathed the Beauteous Breath : They taste the Goodly Gift of Grace. —Now ’tis the chronicler that saith: Our Saviour grant in little space That also I, even I, be blest Thus, though so evil is my case— Let them that read my rime attest The same sweet unction in my pen— That writes in pure blood of my breast; For that I figure unto men The story of my pro…
…eless “oughts” and fatuous “ musts.” “ All the delusions ” (argueth The ass), “all uproars, surely rise From that curst Me whose name is Death, Whereas the Questing Beast belies 67
…t. Then blew Each angel on his trumpet, then All Heaven resounded that it knew Sir Palamede the Saracen Was master! Through the domes of death, Through all the mighty realms of men And spirits breathed the Beauteous Breath : They taste the Goodly Gift of Grace. —Now ’tis the chronicler that saith: Our Saviour grant in little space That also I, even I, be blest Thus, though so evil is my case— Let them that read my rime attest The same sweet unction in my pen— That writes in pure blood of my breast; For that I figure unto men The story of my pro…
…movable bounds ! Roll, ye wild billows of ether ! the cymbal is shaken and sounds ! Wild and sonorous the clamour, vast in the region of death, Live with the Fire of the Spirit, the essence and flame of the breath ! Sound, O sound ! Gleam in the world of the dark, where the chained ones shall tremble and flee ! Gleam in the skies of the dusk, for the Light of the Dawn is in me ! Light on the forehead, and life in the nostrils, and love in the breast, Shine, O thou Star of the Dawning, thou Sun of the Radiant Crest ! Shine, O shine ! Flame throu…
…RD is risen. Hail ! Thou anointed King ! Now, O Thou pitiful and pallid, Who to the cross didst cleave and cling, Thy tears to life from death have rallied Thy SON, the Holy King ! Eater of flesh and soul and spirit, The Lord of Hell on dropping wing His doom of dolour doth inherit From our anointed King. See ! headlong where he reels and plunges To the abyss, a noisome thing ! He falls ! Our sin Thy SON expunges ! Thy SON, the Holy King ! Then, O thou mildest maiden mother, Thou feedest us ! our crowns we fling Here at Thy feet, who art no oth…
…mountains in the ice We hang above some precipice, We offer Thee the sacrifice, And hail Thee, holy Mary ! Still, when the icy breeze of death Cuts through the bastions of breath, Thou hearest him who murmureth All hail, O holy Mary ! Amen. W 32
…—to ride! Three days: the black horse drops and dies. The trappings furnish them a fire, The beast a meal. With dreadful eyes Stare into death the child, the sire. Six days : the gaunt and gallant knight Sees hateful visions in the day. Where are the antient speed and might Were wont to animate that clay? Nine days; they stumble on; no more His strength avails to bear the child. Still hangs the mist, and still before Yawns the immeasurable wild. Twelve days: the end. Afar he spies The mountains stooping to the plain ; A little splash of sunligh…
… quite so contaminating as humanity, espe- cially Theosophists, as Mme. Blavatsky herself discovered. But the best of all lustrations is death, in which all things unessential to progress are burned up. The plan is much better than that of the Elixir of Life. It is perfectly all right to use this Elixir for energy and youth, but despite all, im- pressions keep on cluttering up the mind, and once in a while it is certainly a splendid thing for everybody to have the Spring Cleaning of death. With regard to one’s purpose in doing anything at all, …
NECROPHILIA 123 To gnaw thy hollow cheeks, and pull Thy lustful tongue from out it’s sheath ; To wallow in the bowels of death, And rip thy belly, and fill full My hands with all putridities ; To chew thy dainty testicles ; To revel with the worms in Hell’s Delight in such obscenities ; To pour within thine heart the seed Mingled with poisonous discharge From a swollen gland, inflamed and large With gonorrhoea’s delicious breed ; To probe thy belly, and to drink The godless fluids, and the pool Of rank putrescence from the stool Thy hanged corp…
…, Trees that re-weave their branches lovingly, Birds that pass passionate on pinions fleet : Such quiet joys my eyes in slumber see— Let deaths keen sickle wander through the wheat ! I love not life oermuch ; since loving thee My dreams are sweet. Sing, little bird, it is dawn ; Chant, with the day the woods ring ; Now in the blush of the morn Sing ! Love doth enchain me and cling, Love, of the breeze that is born, Love, with the breeze that takes wing,
…we know, and nitrogen, And oxygen—are these a rose? But this though everybody knows, That this should be the same for men They know not. Death may decompose, 50
…outh? Who on her mount and ride? Look to the North, the West, the South! There is carnage vulture-eyed. Then who will suck the breath of death, The swift and glittering bride ? The bride that clings as a snare with springs To the warrior’s stricken side? A shudder struck the hidden men As the maniac’s mouthings ceased. Then, kindling, rose a roar: ‘‘ Spread, spread the furtive feast ! The wine of agony pour! The fruit of valour pluck! The meat of murder suck! ‘* Sweet are the songs of her throat ! Soft are the strokes of her fan! 83