EXILE from humankind! The snow’s fresh flakes

Are warmer than men’s hearts. My mind is wrought

Into dark shapes of solitary thought

That loves and sympathises, but awakes

No answering love or pity. What a pang

Hath this strange solitude to aggravate

The self-abasement and the blows of Fate!

No snake of hell hath so severe a fang!

I am not lower than all men — I feel

Too keenly. Yet my place is not above,

Though I have this — unalterable Love

In every fibre. I am crucified

Apart on a lone burning crag of steel,

Tortured, cast out; and yet — I shall abide.

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I shall endure to the end. This was the mystic title taken by Crowley at his first initiation.


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