Aleister Crowley (12 October 1875 - 1 December 1947 / Warwickshire, England)
When the chill of earth black-breasted is uplifted at the
Of the red sun million-crested, and the forest blossoms
With the light that stirs and lustres of the dawn, and with
Of the wind’s cheek as it clusters from the hidden valley’s
Then I walk in woodland spaces, musing on the solemn
Of the immemorial places shut behind the starry rays
Of the East and all its splendour, of the West and all its peace;
And the stubborn lights grow tender, and the hard sounds
hush and cease.
In the wheel of heaven revolving, mysteries of death and
In the wonb of time dissolving, shape anew a heaven and
Ever changing, ever growing, ever dwindling, ever dear,
Ever worth the passion glowing to distil a doubtful tear.
These are with me, these are of me, these approve me,
Choose me, move me, fear me, love me, master of the
night and day.
These are real, these illusion : I am of them, false or frail,
True or lasting, all is fusion in the spirit’s shadow-veil,
Till the knowledge -Lotus flowering hides the world
beneath its stem;
Neither I, nor nor God life-showering, find a counterpart in
As a spirit in a vision shows a countenance in fear,
Laughs the looker to derision, only comes to disappear,
Gods and mortals, mind and matter, in the glowing bud
Vein from vein they rend and shatter, and are nothingness
In the blessed, the enlightened, perfect eyes these visions
Pass and cease, poor shadows frightened,
leave no stain
upon the glass.
One last stroke, O heart- free master, one last certain
calm of will,
And the maker of Disaster shall be strcken and grow
Burn thou to the core of matter, to the spirit’s utmost
Consciousness and sense to shatter, ruin sight and form
Shatter, lake-reflected spectre; lake, rise up in mist to
Sun, dissolve in showers of nectar, and the Master’s
work is done.
Nectar perfume gently stealing, masterful and sweet and
Cleanse the world with light of healing in the ancient
House of Wrong !
Free a million mortals on the wheel og being
Open wide the mystic portals, and be altogether lost!
Comments about this poem (Arhan by Aleister Crowley )
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