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 barque; 

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. 


Aleister Crowley

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