A poem by Alistar Crowley (1875-1947)

As night hath stars, more rare than ships

In ocean, faint from pole to pole,

So all the wonder of her lips

Hints her innavigable soul.

Such lights she gives as guide my bark;

But I am swallowed in the swell

Of her heart’s ocean, sagely dark,

That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

In her I live, a mote minute

Dancing a moment in the sun:

In her I die, a sterile shoot

Of nightshade in oblivion.

In her my elf dissolves, a grain

Of salt cast careless in the sea;

My passion purifies my pain

To peace past personality.

Love of my life, God grant the years

Confirm the chrism; rose to rood!

Anointing loves, asperging tears

In sanctifying solitude!

Man is so infinitely small

In all these stars, determinate.

Maker and moulder of them all,

Man is so infinitely great!

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