THE WORKS OF ALEISTER CROWLEY Vol. I, part 3 of 3 ASCII VERSION February 18, 1993 e.v. key entry by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O. January 8, 1994 e.v. proofed and conformed to the "Essay Competition Copy" edition of 1905 e.v. by Bill Heidrick T.G. of O.T.O. File 3 of 3. Copyright (c) O.T.O. O.T.O. P.O.Box 430 Fairfax, CA 94978 USA (415) 454-5176 ---- Messages only. This work was originally published in two parallel columns. Where such columns are found in the original, they have been rendered as a single text with "A" or "B" added to the page number at the end of each column: A = end page left column. B = end page right column. On many pages a prefatory paragraph or a concluding group of sentences is full across the page. These instances are noted in curly brackets. Pages in the original are marked thus at the bottom: {page number} or {page number A} and {page number B}. Comments and descriptions are also set off by curly brackets {} Comments and notes not in the original are identified with the initials of the source: e.g. WEH note = Bill Heidrick note, etc. Descriptions of illustrations are not so identified, but are simply in curly brackets. Text Footnotes have been expanded at or near the point of citation within double angle brackets, e.g. <<footnote>>. For poems, most longer footnotes are cited in the text to expanded form below the stanzas. LIMITED LICENSE Except for notations added to the history of modification, the text on this diskette down to the next row of asterisks must accompany all copies made of this file. In particular, this paragraph and the copyright notice are not to be deleted or changed on any copies or print-outs of this file. With these provisos, anyone may copy this file for personal use or research. Copies may be made for other individuals at reasonable cost of copying and mailing only, no additional charges may be added. Not for "share-ware" distribution or inclusion in any commercial enterprise. ************************************************************************ SONNET FOR GERALD KELLY'S DRAWING OF JEZEBEL. LIFT up thine head, disastrous Jezebel! Fire and black stars are melted in thine hair That curls to Hell, as in Satanic prayer; Thy mouth is heavy with its riper smell Than clustered pomegranates beside a well; The cruel savour of thy lust lies there, That blood may tinge thy kisses unaware To fill thy children with the hope of Hell. {180B} O evil beauty! Heart of mystery Wherein my being toils, and in the blood Mixed with thy poison finds its subtle food, Intoxicating my divinity! Disdainful hands behind thee, I may take What joys I will -- but thou wilt not awake. MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE.<<1>> <<1. Canticles viii. 6,7.>> IN my distress I made complaint to Death: Thy shadow strides across the starry air; Thou comest as a serpent unaware, Striking love's heart and crushing out man's breath: Thy destiny is even as God saith To mark the impotence of human prayer, Choke hope, sting all but Love; and never care If man or flower or sparrow perisheth. Thee, I invoke thee, though no mercy move Thy heart! No power is to thy hate assigned On love (sing, poets! shrill, Pandean reeds!). But me, look on me, how my bossom bleeds -- Invoke new power of cruelty; be kind, And ask authority to quench my love! COENUM FATALE. "La cour d'appel de la volonte de l'homme -- C'est le ventre!" - "Old proverb." THE worst of meals is that we have to meet. They trick my purpose and evade my will, Remind my conscience that I love her still, And pull my spirit from its lofty seat. For I withdraw myself: my stealthy feet Seek half-ashamed the alembic which I fill To the epic-mark -- one sonnet to distil, In this poor miracle -- my love to cheat. {181A} Dinner clangs cheerily from my lady's gong. A man must eat in intervals of song! Swift feet run back, to hide my hate of her. And then -- that hate flies truant, as my thought Rests (surely it beseems the overwrought) And I am left her slave and minister. THE SUMMIT OF THE AMOROUS MOUNTAIN. TO love you, Love, is all my happiness; To kill you with my kisses; to devour Your whole ripe beauty in the perfect hour That mingles us in one supreme caress; To drink the purple of your thighs; to press Your beating bosom like a living flower; To die in your embraces, in the shower That dews like death your swooning loveliness To know you love me; that your body leaps With the quick passion of your soul; to know Your fragrant kisses sting my spirit so; To be one soul where Satan smiles and sleeps; -- Ah! in the very triumph-hour of Hell Satan himself remembers whence he fell! CONVENTIONAL WICKEDNESS. BEFORE the altar of Famine and Desire The Two in One, a golden woman stands Holding a heart in her ensanguine hands, The nightly victim of her whore's attire. Quick sobs of lust instead of prayers inspire Some oracle of Death. From many lands Come many worshippers. Their fading brands Rekindle from the sacrificial fire. Before the altar of Plenty, Love, and Peace, Stand purer priests in bloodless sacrifice, And quiet hymns of happiness are heard. Here sound no hatreds and no ecstasies; Here no polluted sacrament of Vice Unveiled! I chose the first without a word! {181B} LOVE'S WISDOM. THERE is a sense of passion after death. Passion for death, desire to kiss the scythe, All know, whose limbs in envious glory writhe, And lie exhausted, mingling happy breath. "Could I end so -- this moment!" Lingereth The lazy gaze half mournful and half blithe. But there's another, when the body dieth -- Hast thou no knowledge what the carcase saith? I watched all night by my dead lover's bed. I saw the spirit; heard the motionless Lips part in uttering a supreme caress: "I care not or for life or death;" they said, "Only for love." "What difference?" said I, "Dead or alive, I love thee utterly." THE PESSIMIST'S PROGRESS.<<1>> <<1. The obscurity of this poem demands explanation. Its thesisis the fact that human happiness is only found in strife and aspiration. Victory and achievement inevitably lead to discontent, because only the impossible is truly desirable.>> MORTAL distrust of mortal happiness Is born of madness and of impotence; A miserable and distorted sense, Defiant in its hatred of success. Even where love's banners flame, and flowers bless The happy head; all faith and hope immense Fly, for possession dwells supreme, intense; And to possess is only -- to possess. But, as the night draws snailwise to its end, And sleep invades the obstinate desire, And lovers sigh -- but not for kisses' sake -- There comes this misery, as half awake I watch the embers of my passion-fire, And see love dwindled in my -- call her friend! {182A} NEPHTHYSS. "There is no light, nor wisdom, nor knowledge in the grave, wither thou goest." -- SOLOMON. A FOOLISH and a cruel thing is said By the Most High that mocks man's empty breast, As if the grave were mere eternal rest, Or merest resurrection of the dead. All petty wishes: at the fountain-head, A dead girl's whisper -- I have stooped and pressed My ear unto her heart -- her soul confessed That none of life her joy relinquished. "I died the moment when you tore away The bleeding veil of my virginity. The pain was sudden -- and the joy was long. Persists that triumph, keenly, utterly! Write, then, in thy mysterious book of song: 'Death chisels marble where life moulded clay.'" AGAINST THE TIDE. I KILLED my wife -- not meaning to, indeed -- Yet knew myself the sheer necessity: For I too died that miracle-hour -- and she, She also knew the immedicable need. She sighed, and laughed, and died. How loves exceed In that strange fact! Yet robbed (you say) are we Of God's own purpose of fecundity. Exactly! You have read the golden rede. That is the pity of all things on earth: That all must have its consequence again. Life ends in death and loving ends in birth. All's made for pleasure: man's device is pain. And in that pain and barrenness men find Triumph on God; and glory of the mind. {182B} STYX. (TO M. M. M.) "The number nine is sacred, as the Oracles inform us, and attaineth the summits of philosophy." -- ZOROASTER. NINE times I kissed my lover in her sleep: The first time, to make sure that she was there; The second, as a sleepy sort of prayer; The third, because I wished that she should weep; The fourth, to draw her kisses and to keep; The fifth, for love; the sixth, in sweet despair; The seventh, to destroy us unaware; The eighth, to dive within the infernal deep. The last, to kill her -- and myself as well! Ah! joy of sweet annihilation, The blackness that invades the burning sun, My swart limbs and her limbs adorable! S...
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