Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
In my opinion, this together with 'Hymn to Pan' are the best poems by thy best poet - Aleister Crowley. Can't believe that the last comment on his brilliancy was 2 years ago...
And I also have the whole poem written on the beginning page of my notebook, beneath the unicursal hexagram and the line 'The Key of Joy is disobedience' with darker shrift.
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