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Diary of a Drug Fiend

Page 81

by Aleister Crowley


  I am the Lord.”

  The loud-voiced choir would drown in song

  The voice of God; their music woke

  Echoes through chancel weird and long –

  In thunder and fierce fire and smoke

  Jehovah spoke.

  “On with the farce! My perjured priests,

  The wolves that raven through my flock,

  Nay, wolves in shepard’s garb, wild beasts

  That fang and tear my lambs, and mock

  At Judah’s stock.

  “On with the grim foul farce! Black hell

  Gapes to receive all actors there.

  Play on its brink! What soul can tell

  But I, your God, may be as air,

  A children’s snare?

  “But I am here, I will not heed,

  I will not give more signs; But I

  Will come with heavy hand and deed

  And give men knowledge ere they die

  How their priests lie.

  “A gospel marred, a bastard creed,

  A dogma out of hell ye teach!

  False shepards, ye shall learn your meed;

  Not as waves breaking on the beach

  My wrath shall reach!

  “I forget not – heed not my cry,

  Play out the farce, wed fast the twain! –

  Red judgement and black death draw nigh,

  Your blasphemies shall all be vain,

  And your souls slain.

  “Vipers! on him my mercy falls

  Perchance, at last, in heaven; but ye

  I will sepulchre in black walls

  Of Hell, burn up and hide from me

  ’Neath the blind sea!

  “Vipers! eternal fire shall quench

  Your prayers and curses, hell shall hold

  The vapourous vomit of your stench

  Wrung from foul souls, no longer bold

  But cowed and cold.

  “Vipers! his fooly I will heal,

  Your sin I will not put away;

  My Christ is vain for you; appeal

  In vain to his shed blood; nor pray

  I will not slay.

  “I will most utterly destroy

  Your souls from off the earth; your power

  Sealed by your Satan I will cloy

  With subtle strength; your church shall flower

  No further hour.

  “Because ye set your hands to this,

  Blaspheming nature and my name,

  Cemented the unholy kiss

  Of barren age’s fruitless shame

  Your hell shall flame

  “Seven times more hot, that ye may know

  My paths shall be most surely trod,

  That I who answer thus, who show

  Myself in wielding sword and rod,

  Am high Lord God!”

  Silent the voice, and through the nave

  And chancel droned the choir; the sun

  Darkened, as Satan’s perjured slave,

  The priest, in blessing, made them one.

  The Deed was done.

  A BALLAD OF CHOOSING

  Love brought a garland to my feet today

  Offering to crown my head withal, and said:

  “The year is young, it is the time of May,

  Autumn is distant, and the winter, dead.”

  And would therewith my brows have garlanded

  But that I asked him “Is not this a fire

  To burn the scorched brain through

  my maddened head?

  Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?”

  Fame brought a golden crown, bejewelled o’er

  With precious rubies beyond price, and cried

  “The world is young, thy name shall evermore

  Ring in men’s ears, stately and glorified.”

  But I, with shuddering lips, to him replied

  “Fame is the aramanth that fools desire

  My soul’s price is beyond thy jewel’s pride

  Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?”

  “Wealth brought to me a purse, whose glancing gold

  Mocked the sun’s rays, grown dull as iron rust,

  And pressed it in my hand, saying ‘Behold

  The corner-stone of fame, the means of lust’

  And I in thee I put but little trust

  Shameful, most vile, accursed of God’s ire,

  Dross of the dunghill’s most detested dust,

  Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?”

  Christ came to me, alone and sorrowful,

  And offered me a cross, saying to me,

  “I have great joys to give most bountiful.

  Carry this through the world, and when the sea

  Of death is past, then is prepared for thee

  A house of many mansions.” My desire

  Hid not from me the vileness of his plea:

  “Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?”

  ENVOI

  Prince of the air, thou offerest nought to me

  I serve thee, recompensed of hell-fire,

  More nobly than these others, verily

  Since none with impious word may mock at thee

  “Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?”

  A JEALOUS LOVER

  I

  I have an idol wrought of stainless gold

  Before whose feet I bow, in whose delight

  I am content to live, whose spells of might

  Are smiles that gleam, are tears that glisten cold

  On the fair cheek that blushes if I praise;

  Are warm ripe kisses in the softer hours

  When love is perfect blossom of sweet flowers,

  Are shadowed glances of pure lovelight rays

  From clear blue eyes, are wonderful caresses

  When love is golden autumn of sweet fruit.

  What other worship can usurp my days

  When I may lie amid her sunny tresses

  Enraptured by the music of her lute

  One long calm love, one heart’s delight always?

  2

  Bright spheres of heaven, firefly gleams, fair ghosts

  Laugh lightly to the silver globe of night

  That glitters on green fields, and on the sea

  Ripples break foamless, where the golden coasts

  Echo their mellow cadence. Such delight

  Is on me I would fain sigh into sleep

  Until my love comes forth to dream with me

  Of silent words of love and peopled stars

  Where we may live and love and never weep

  Nor yet be weary. The last ruby bars

  Are sunk beneath the sea. The shadows creep

  More on me as I quicken with desire

  My love is all of gold, my faith is deep

  Lit with my heart’s imperishable fire.

  3

  Pale spectres of the stars, corpse-lights, bad-ghosts

  Sicken the icy glamour of the moon

  Upon the vacant earth; and where the sea

  Marshals sepulchral billows, obscene hosts

  Of harpies gibber weirdly. I should swoon

  For the silence, rolled not some dread minstrelsy

  In fearful anguish on the shuddering air,

  Breathing out terror and lightning to the night

  That wildly echoes back Hell’s venomous spite,

  And shrieks aloud the watchword of despair

  To draw each painracked nerve more tense and gray

  For I am alone, unloved, in murk and gloom,

  Unloved, unfriended, fittest for the tomb,

 
; Who worshipped golden feet and found them clay.

  4

  She creeps alive upon the tawny sands,

  False glittering woman, girt about with lies!

  She steals toward me, the tigress sleek and fierce!

  Destroying devil, with long sinuous hands

  And hate triumphant in blue-murderous eyes!

  I nerve myself to spring upon and pierce

  With maddening fangs those firm white bosom towers,

  To tear those lithe voluptuous limbs apart

  And glut my ravening soul with vengeance. Heart

  Quickens as she draws near; the scent of flowers

  Breathes round her damned presence. Shall she live

  To triumph with those tainted lips of song –

  She whispered “Dearest, I have kept thee long.”

  I flung myself before her, “Love, forgive!”

  BALLADE DE LA JOLIE MARION

  It is a sweet thing to be loved,

  Although my sighs in absence wake,

  Although my saddening heart is moved,

  I smile and bear for love’s dear sake.

  My songs their wonted music make,

  Joyous and careless, songs of youth,

  Because the sacred lips of both

  Are met to kiss the last good-bye,

  Because sweet glances weep for ruth

  That we must part, and love must die.

  Remembrance of love’s long delights

  Is to remember sighs and tears,

  Yet I will think upon the nights

  I whispered into passionate ears

  The fond desires, the sweet faint fears.

  My lover’s limbs of lissome white

  Gleamed in the darkness and strange light,

  The wondrous orbs voluptuously

  Bent on me all unearthly bright:

  But we must part, and love must die.

  Fond limbs with mine were intertwined,

  A hand lascivious fondled me;

  My ears grew deaf, my eyes grew blind,

  My tongue was hot from kisses free,

  Short madness, and we lazily

  Lolled back upon the bed of fire.

  I was a-weary – her desire

  Drew her upon me – Marion, fie!

  You work our pleasure till I tire:

  But we must part, and love must die.

  Nor thus did love’s embraces wane,

  Though lusty limbs grow idle quite;

  Our mouths’ red valves are over-fain

  To suck the sweetness from the night;

  And amorously, with touches light,

  Steal passion from reluctant pain.

  So has the daystar fled again

  Before the blushes of the sky,

  So did I clasp thy knees in vain:

  For we must part, and love must die.

  You say another’s sensuous lips

  Shall open to my kisses there:

  When weary, steal those luscious sips;

  Another’s hands play in my hair

  And find delight for me to bare

  The bosom, and the passionate mound

  White and, for Venus’ temple, round,

  A garden of wild thyme whose eye

  My sword shall pierce, and never wound:

  For we must part, and love must die.

  You say – but Oh! my Marion’s kiss

  Shall linger on my palate still,

  No joy on earth is like to this

  That we have tasted to our fill

  Of all our sweet lascivious will.

  The cup is drained of lust’s delight,

  Yet wells with pleasure, and by night

  I’ll come once more and loving lie

  Between thine amorous limbs, despite

  That we must part, and love must die.

  ENVOI

  Thus, sweet, I’ll sing when day doth break

  And weary lovers must awake

  To part, but now our pleasure take

  In one last bout of rivalry,

  Whose passions first shall answer make

  To the dances that the curtains shake

  Till we must part, and love must die.

  AT STOCKHOLM

  We could not speak, although the sudden glow

  Of passion mantling to the crimson cheek

  Of either, told our tale of love, although

  We could not speak.

  What need of language, barren and false and bleak,

  While our white arms could link each other so,

  And fond red lips their partners mutely seek?

  What time for language, when our kisses flow

  Eloquent, warm, as words are cold and weak? –

  Or now – Ah! sweetheart, even were it so,

  We could not speak!

  MATHILDE

  O large lips opening outward like a flower

  To breathe upon my face that clings to thee!

  O wanton breasts that heave deliciously

  And tempt my eager teeth! Oh cruel power

  Of wide deep thighs that make me furious

  As they enclasp me and swing to and fro

  With passion that grows pale and drives the flow

  Of the fast fragrant blood of both of us

  Into the awful link that knits us close

  With chain electric! O have mercy yet

  In drawing out my life in this desire

  To consummate this moment all the gross

  Lusts of tonight, and pay the sudden debt

  That with strong water shall put out our fire!

  YET TIME TO TURN

  Brighter than snow on glittering Alps, the soul

  Of my lost love was, bluer than the haze

  Of those same hills, more violent and deep

  Her eyes’ clear gaze,

  Dreaming of hidden wonders; and the goal

  Of life grew luminous o’er Time’s empurpled steep

  She loved me then; she loves me now, afar.

  Ah, she knew not! and I, so steeped and stained

  With fierce sins, knew myself unworthy of

  The heart I gained,

  And, a lost mariner whose polar star

  He is ashamed to look to, cast away her love.

  I would not have her love a thing so vile,

  I would not link her life with such as mine!

  0 cursed sin, to leave my soul too high

  To cheat the shrine!

  I drave Love forth, Love lingered yet awhile

  So that I might not quite win Hell before I die.

  O little root of nobleness left thus

  Dead since it has no power to grow, to bloom;

  Live, since I may not bury it within

  The gaping tomb

  Where virtue lies, that I, imperious,

  Long since interred with hope, all life’s joy save sin.

  ALL NIGHT

  All night no change, no whisper. Scarce a breath

  But lips closed hard upon the cup of death

  To drain its sweetest poison. Scarce a sigh

  Beats the dead hours out; scarce a melody

  Of measured pulses quickened with the blood

  Of that desire which pours its deadly flood

  Through soul and shaken body; scarce a thought

  But sense through spirit most divinely wrought

  To perfect feeling; only through the lips

  Electric ardour kindles, flashes, slips

  Through all the circle to her lips again

  And thence, unwavering, flies to mine, to drain

  All pleasure in one dr
aught. No whispered sigh,

  No change of breast, love’s posture perfectly

  Once gained, we change no more.

  The fever grows Hotter or cooler, as the night wind blows

  Fresh gusts of passion on the outer gate.

  But we, in waves of frenzy, concentrate

  Our thirsty mouths on that hot drinking cup

  Whence we may never suck the nectar up

  Too often or too hard; fresh fire invades

  Our furious veins, and the unquiet shades

  Of night make noises in the darkened room.

  Yet, did I raise my head, throughout the gloom

  I might behold thine eyes as red as fire,

  A tigress maddened with supreme desire.

  White arms that clasp me, fervent breast that glides

  An eager snake, about my breast and sides,

  And white teeth keen to bite, red tongue that tires,

  And lips ensanguine with unfed desires,

  Hot breath and hands, dishevelled hair and head,

  Thy fevered mouth like snakes’ mouths crimson red,

  A very beast of prey; and I like thee,

  Fiery, unweary, as thou art of me.

  But raise no head; I know thee, breast and thigh,

  Lips, hair and eyes and mouth: I will not die

  But thou come with me o’er the gate of death.

  So, blood and body furious with breath

  That pants through foaming kisses, let us stay

  Gripped hard together to keep life away,

  Mouths drowned in murder, never satiate,

  Kissing away the hard decrees of Fate,

  Kissing insatiable in mad desire

  Kisses whose agony may never tire,

  Kissing the gates of hell, the sword of God,

  Each unto each a serpent or a rod,

  A well of wine and fire, each unto each,

  Whose lips are fain convulsively to reach

  A higher heaven, a deeper hell. Ah! Day

  So soon to dawn, delight to snatch away!

  Damned day, whose sunlight finds us as with wine

  Drunken, with lust made manifest divine

  Devils of darkness, servants unto hell –

  Yea, king and queen of Sheol, terrible

  Above all fiends and furies, hating more

  The high Jehovah, loving Baal Peor,

  Our father and our lover and our god!

  Yea, though he lift his adamantine rod

  And pierce us through, how shall his anger tame

  Fire that glows fiercer for the brand of shame

 

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