Share on ... Google+ Twitter Facebook Pinterest Table of Contents THE FIVE KISSES. I. AFTER CONFESSION. II. THE FLIGHT. III. THE SPRING AFTER. IV. THE VOYAGE SOUTHWARD. V. THE ULTIMATE VOYAGE. MYSTERIES: LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. 1898. {columns resume} THE FIVE KISSES. 1) I. AFTER CONFESSION. DAY startles the fawn from the avenues deep that look to the east in the heart of the wood: Light touches the trees of the hill with its lips, and God is above them and sees they are good: Night flings from her forehead the purple-black hood. The thicket is sweet with the breath of the breeze made soft by the kisses of slumbering maids; The nymph and the satyr, the fair and the faulty alike are the guests of these amorous shades; The hour of Love flickers and falters and fades. O, listen, my love, to the song of the brook, its murmurs and cadences, trills and low chords; Hark to its silence, that prelude of wonder ringing at last like the clamour of swords That clash in the wrath of the warring of lords. Listen, oh, listen! the nightingale near us swoons a farewell to the blossoming brake; Listen, the thrush in the meadow is singing notes that move sinuous, lithe as a snake; The cushats are cooing, the world is awake. {90A} Only one hour since you whispered the story out of your heart to my tremulous ear; Only one hour since the light of your eyes was the victor of violent sorrow and fear; Your lips were so set to the lips of me here. Surely the victory ripens to perfect conquest of everything set in our way. We must be free as our hearts re, and gather strength for our limbs for the heat of the fray: The battle is ours if you say me not nay. Fly with me far, where the ocean is bounded white by the walls of the northernmost shore, Where on a lone rocky island a castle laughs in its pride at the billows that roar, My home where our love may have peace evermore. Yes, on one whisper the other is waiting patient to catch the low tone of delight. Kiss me again for the amorous answer; close your dear eyelids and think it is night, The hour of the even we fix for the flight. II. THE FLIGHT. LIFT up thine eyes! for night is shed around, As light profound, And visible as snow on steepled hills, Where silence fills The shaded hollows: night, a royal queen Most dimly seen {90B} Through silken curtains that bedeck the bed, Lift up thine head! For night is here, a dragon, to devour The slow sweet hour Filled with all smoke of incense, and the praise More loud than day's That swings its barren censer in the sky And asks to die Because the sea will hear no hollow moan Beyond its own, Because the sea that kissed dead Sappho2) sings Of strange dark things – Shapes of bright breasts that purple as the sun Grows dark and dun, Of pallid lips more haggard for the kiss Of Salmacis,3) Of eager eyes that startle for the fear Too dimly dear Lest there come death, like passion, and fulfil Their dreams of ill! Oh! lift thy forehead to the night's cool wind! The meekest hind That fears the noonday in her grove is bold To seek the gold So pale and perfect as the moon puts on: The light is gone. Hardly as yet one sees the crescent maid Move, half afraid, Into the swarthy forest of the air And breast made bare, Gather her limbs about her for the chase Through starry space, And, while the lilies sway their heads, to bend Her bow, to send {91A} A swift white arrow at some recreant star. The sea is far Dropped in the hollows of the swooning land. Oh! hold my hand! Lift up thy deep eyes to my face, and let Our lips forget The dumb dead hours before they met together! The snowbright weather Calls us beyond the grassy down, to be Beside the sea, The slowly-breathing ocean of the south. Oh, make thy mouth A rosy flame like that most perfect star Whose kisses are So red and ripe! Oh, let thy limbs entwine Like love with mine! Oh, bend thy gracious body to my breast To sleep, to rest! But chiefly let thine eyes be set on me, As when the sea Lay like a mirror to reflect the shape Of yonder cape Where Sappho stood and touched the lips of death! Thy subtle breath Shall flow like incense in between our cheeks, Where pleasure seeks In vain a wiser happiness. And so Our whispers low Shall dim the utmost beauty of thy gaze Through moveless days And long nights equable with tranced pleasure: So love at leisure Shall make his model of our clinging looks, And burn his books To write a new sweet volume deeper much, And frail to touch, Being the mirror of a gossamer Too soft and fair. This is the hour when all the world is sleeping; The winds are keeping A lulling music on the frosty sea. The air is free, {91B} As free as summer-time, to sound or cease: God's utmost peace Lies like a cloud upon the quiet land. O little hand! White hand with rose leaves shed about the tips, As if my lips Had left their bloom upon it when they kissed As if a mist Of God's delicious dawn had overspread Their face, and fled! O wonderful fresh blossom of the wood! O purpling blood! O azure veins as clear as all the skies! O longing eyes That look upon me fondly to beget Two faces, set Either like lowers upon their laughing blue, Where morning dew Sparkles with all the passion of the dawn! The happy lawn Leads, by the stillest avenues, to groves Made soft by loves; And all the nymphs have made a mossy dell Hard by the well Where even a Satyr might behold the grace Of such a face As his4) who perished for his own delights, So well requites That witching fountain his desire that looks. Two slow bright brooks Encircle it with silver, and the moon Strikes into tune The ripples as they break. For here it was Their steps did pass, Dreamy Endymion's and Artemis',5) Who bent to kiss Across the moss-grown rocks that build the well: And here they tell {92A} Of one6) beneath the hoary stone who hid And watched unbid When one most holy came across the glade, Who saw a maid So bright that mists were dim upon his eyes, And yet he spies So sweet a vision that his gentle breath Sighed into death: And others say that her the fairies bring The fairy king,7) And crown him with a flower of eglantine, And of the vine Twist him a throne made perfect with wild roses, And gathered posies From all the streams that wander through the vale, And crying, “Hail! All hail, most beautiful of all our race!” Cover his face With blossoms gathered from a fairy tree Like foam from sea, So delicate that mortal eyes behold Ephemeral gold Flash, and not see a flower, but say the moon Has shone too soon Anxious to great Endymion; and this Most dainty kiss They cover him him withal, and Dian sees Through all the trees No pink pale blossom of his tender lips. The little ships Of silver leaf and briar-bloom sail here, No storm to fear, Though butterflies be all their mariners. The whitethroat stirs The beech-leaves to awake the tiny breeze That soothes the seas, And yet gives breath to shake their fairy sails; Young nightingales, Far through the golden plumage of the night, With strong delight {92B} Purple the evening with amazing song; The moonbeams throng In shining clusters to the fairy throat, Whose clear trills float And dive and run about the crystal deep As sweet as sleep. Only, fair love of this full heart of mine, There lacks the wine Our kisses might pour out for them; they wait, And we are late; Only, my flower of all the world, the thrush (You hear him? Hush!) Lingers, and sings not to his fullest yet: Our love shall get Such woodland welcome as none ever had To make it glad. Come, it is time, cling closer to my hand. We understand. We must go forth together, not to part. O perfect heart! O little heart that beats to mine, away Before the day Ring out the tocsin for our flight! My ship Is keen to dip Her plunging forehead in the silvering sea. To-morrow we Shall be so far away, and then to-morrow Shall shake off sorrow And be to-morrow and not change for ever: No dawn shall sever The sleepy eyelids of the night, no eve Shall fall and cleave The blue deep eyes of day. Your hand, my queen! Look down and lean Your whole weight on me, then leap out, as light As swallow's flight, And race across the shadows of the moon, And keep the tune With ringing hoofs across the fiery way. Your eyes betray How eager is your heart, and yet – O dare To fashion fair A whole long life of love! Leap high, laugh low! I love you – so! – {93A) One kiss – and then to freedom! See the bay So far away, But not too far for love! Ring out, sharp hoof, And put to proof The skill of him that steeled thee! Freedom! Set As never yet Thy straining sides for freedom! Gallant mare! The frosty air Kindles the blood within us as we race. O love! Thy face Flames with the passion of our happy speed! The noble steed Pashes the first gold limit of the sand. Ah love, thy hand! We win, no foot pursuing spans the brow! Yes, kiss me now! III. THE SPRING AFTER. NORTH, by the ice-belt, where the cliffs appease Innumerable clamour of sundering seas, And garlands of ungatherable foam Wild as the horses maddening toward home, Where through the thunderous burden of the thaw Rings the sharp fury of the breaking flaw, Where summer's hand is heavy on the snow, And springtide bursts the insuperable floe, North, by the limit of the ocean, stands A castle, lord of those far footless hands That are the wall of that most monstrous world About whose pillars Behemoth is curled, About whose gates Leviathan is strong, Whose secret terror sweetens not for song. The hoarse loud roar of gulphs of raging brine That break in foam and fire on that divine Cliff-base, is smothered in the misty air, And no sound penetrates them, save a rare {93} Music of sombre motion, swaying slow. The sky above is one dark indigo Voiceless and deep, no light is hard within To shame love's lips and rouse the silky skin From its dull olive to a perfect white. For scarce an hour the golden rim of light Tinges the southward bergs; for scarce an hour The sun puts forth his seasonable flower, And only for a little while the wind Wakes at his coming, and beats cold and blind On the wild sea that struggles to release The hard grip from its throat, and lie at ease Lapped in the eternal summer. But its waves Roam through the solitude of empty caves In vain; no faster wheels the moon above; And still reluctant fly the hours of love. It is so peaceful in the castle: here The night of winter never froze a tear On my love's cheek or mine; no sorrow came To track our vessel by its wake of flame Wherein the dolphin bathed his shining side; No smallest cloud between me and my bride Came like a little mist; one tender fear, Too sweet to speak of, closed the dying year With love more perfect, for its purple root Might blossom outward to the snowy fruit Whose bloom to-night lay sleeping on her breast, As if a touch might stir the sunny nest, Break the spell's power, and bid the spirit fly Who had come near to dwell with us. But I Bend through long hours above the dear twin life, Look from love's guerdon to the lover-wife, And back again to that small face so sweet, And downwards to the little rosy feet, And see myself no longer in her eyes So perfectly as here, where passion lies Buried and re-arisen and complete. O happy life too sweet, too perfect sweet, O happy love too perfectly made one Not to arouse the envy of the sun {94A} Who sulks six months8) for spite of it! O love, Too pure and fond for those pale gods above, Too perfect for their iron rods to break, Arise, awake, and die for death's own sake! That one forgetfulness may take us three, Still three, still one, to the Lethean sea; That all its waters may be sweet as those We wandered by, sweet sisters of the rose, That perfect night before we fled, we two Who were so silent down that avenue Grown golden with the moonlight, who should be No longer two, but one; nor one, but three. And now it is the spiring; the ice is breaking; The waters roar; the winds their wings are shaking To sweep upon the northland; we shall sail Under the summer perfume of the gale To some old valley where the altars steam Before the gods, and where the maidens dream Their little lives away, and where the trees Shake laughing tresses at the rising breeze, And where the wells of water lie profound, And not unfrequent is the silver sound Of shepherds tuneful as the leaves are green, Whose reedy music echoes, clear and clean, From rocky palaces where gnomes delight To sport all springtime, where the brooding night With cataract is musical, and thrushes Throb their young love beside the stream that rushes Headlong to beat its foamheads into snow, Where the sad swallow calls, and pale songs flow To match the music of the nightingale. There, where the pulses of the summer fail, The fiery flakes of autumn fall, and there Some warm perfection of the lazy air Swims through the purpling veins of lovers. Hark! A faint bird's note, as if a silver spark {94B} Struck from a diamond; listen, wife, and know How perfectly I love to watch you so. Wake, lover, wake, but stir not yet the child: Wake, and thy brow serene and low and mild Shall take my kisses, and my lips shall seek The pallid roses on thy perfect cheek, And kiss them into poppies, and thy mouth Shall lastly close to mine, as in the south We see the sun close fast upon the sea; So, my own heart, thy mouth must close on me. Art thou awake? Those eyes of wondering love, Sweet as the dawn and softer than the dove, Seek no quick vision – yet they move to me And, slowly, to the child. How still are we! Yes, and a smile betokens that they wake Or dream a waking dream for kisses' sake; Yes, I will touch thee, O my low sweet brow! My wife, thy lips to mine – yes, kiss me now! IV. THE VOYAGE SOUTHWARD. HOLY as heaven, the home Of winds, the land of foam, The palace of the waves, the house of rain, Deeper than ocean, dark As dawn before the lark Flings his sharp song to skyward, and is fain To light his lampless eyes At the flower-folded skies Where stars are hidden in the blue, to fill His beak with star-dropt dew, His little heart anew With love an song to swell it to his will; Holy as heaven, the place Before the golden face {95A} Of God is very silent at the dawn. The even keel is keen To flash the waves between, But no soft moving current is withdrawn: We float upon the blue Like sunlight specks in dew, And like the moonlight on the lake we lie: The northern gates are past, And, following fair and fast, The north wind drove us under such a sky, Faint with the sun's desire, And clad in fair attire Of many driving cloudlets; and we flew Like swallows to the South. The ocean's curving mouth Smiled day by day and nights of starry blue; Nights when the sea would shake Like sunlight where the wake Was wonderful with flakes of living things That leapt for joy to feel The cold exultant keel Flash, and the white ship dip her woven wings; Nights when the moon would hold Her lamp of whitest gold To see us on the poop together set With one desire, to be Alone upon the sea And touch soft hands, and hold white bosoms yet, And see in silent eyes More stars than all the skies Together hold within their limits gray, To watch the red lips move For slow delight of love Till the moon sigh and sink, and yield her sway Unto the eastern lord That draws a sanguine sword And starts up eager in the dawn, to see Bright eyes grow dim for sleep, And lazy bosoms keep Their slumber perfect and their sorcery, While dawny winds arise, And fast the white ship flies {95B} To those young groves of olive by the shore, The spring-clad shore we seek That slopes to yonder peak Snow-clad, bright-gleaming, as the silver ore Plucked9) by pale fingers slow In balmy Mexico, A king on thunder throned, his diadem The ruby rocks that flash The sunlight like a lash When sunlight touches, and sweeps over them A crown of light! Behold! The white seas touch the gold, And flame like flowers of fire about the prow. It is the hour for sleep: – Lulled by the moveless deep To sleep, sweet wife, to sleep! Yes, kiss me now! V. THE ULTIMATE VOYAGE. 10) THE wandering waters move about the world, And lap the sand, with quietest complaint Borne on the wings of dying breezes up, To where we make toward the wooded top Of yonder menacing hill. The night is fallen Starless and moonless, black beyond belief, Tremendous, only just the ripple keeps Our souls from perishing in the inane, With music borrowed from the soul of God. We twain go thither, knowing no desire To lead us; but some strong necessity Urges, as lightning thunder, our slow steps Upward. For on the pleasant meadow-land That slopes to sunny bays, and limpid seas (That breathe like maidens sleeping, for their breast Is silver with the sand that lies below,) Where our storm-strengthened dragon rests at last, {96A} And by whose borders we have made a home, More like a squirrel's bower than a house. For in this blue Sicilian summertime The trees arch tenderly for lovers' sleep, And all the interwoven leaves are fine To freshen us with dewdrops at the dawn, Or let the summer shower sing through to us, And welcome kisses of the silver rain That raps and rustles in the solitude. But in the night there came to us a cry: “The mountains are your portion, and the hills Your temple, and you are chosen.” Then I woke Pondering, and my lover woke and said: “I heard a voice of one majestical With waving beard, most ancient, beautiful, Concealed and not concealed;11) and awoke, Feeling a stronger compulsion on my soul To go some whither.” And the dreams were one (We somehow knew), and, looking such a kiss As lovers' eyes can interchange, our lips Met in the mute agreement to obey. So, girding on our raiment, as to pass Some whither of long doubtful journeying, We went forth blindly to the horrible Damp darkness of the pines above. And there Strange beasts crossed path of ours, such beasts as earth Bears not, distorted, tortured, loathable, Mouthing with hateful lips some recent blood, or snarling at our feet. But these attacked No courage of our hearts, we faltered not, And they fell back, snake's mouth and leopard's throat, Afraid. But others fawning came behind With clumsy leapings as in friendliness, Dogs with men's faces, and we beat them off With scabbard, and the hideous path wound on. And these perplexed our goings, for no light Gleamed through the bare pine-ruins lava-struck, {96B} Nor even the hellish fire of Etna's maw. But lucklessly we came upon a pool Dank, dark, and stagnant, evil to the touch, Oozing towards us, but sucked suddenly, Silently, horribly, by slow compulsion Into the slipping sand, and vanishing, Whereon we saw a little boat appear, And in it such a figure as we knew Was Death. But she, intolerant of delay, Hailed him. The vessel floated to our feet, And Death was not. She leapt within, and bent Her own white shoulders to the thwart, and bade Me steer, and keep stern watch with sword unsheathed For fear of something that her soul had seen Above. And thus upon the oily black Silent swift river we sailed out to reach Its source, no longer feeling as compelled, But led by some incomprehensible Passion. And here lewd fishes snapped at us, And watersnakes writhed silently toward Our craft. But these I fought against, and smote head from foul body, to our further ill, For frightful jelly-monsters grew apace, And all the water grew one slimy mass Of crawling tentacles. My sword was swift That slashed and slew them, chiefly to protect The toiling woman, and assure our path Through this foul hell. And now the very air Is thick with cold wet horrors. With my sword Trenchant, that tore their scaly essences – Like Lucian's sailor writhing in the clutch Of those witch-vines – I slashed about like light, And noises horrible of death devoured The hateful suction of their clinging arms And wash of slipping bellies. Presently Sense failed, and – Nothing! By-and-by we woke In a most beautiful canoe of pearl Lucent on lucent water, in a sun {97A} That was the heart of spring. But the green land Seemed distant, with a sense of aery height; As if it were below us far, that seemed Around. And as we gazed the water grew Ethereal, thin, most delicately hued, Misty, as if its substance were dissolved In some more subtle element. We heard “O passers over water, do ye dare To tread the deadlier kingdoms of the air?” Whereat I cried: Arise! And then the pearl Budded with nautilius-wings, and upward now Soared. And our souls began to know the death That was about to take us. All our veins Boiled with tumultuous and bursting blood; Our flesh broke bounds, and all our bones grew fierce, As if some poison ate us up. And lo! The air is peopled with a devil-tribe Born of our own selves. These, grown furious At dispossession by the subtle air, Contend with us, who know the agony Of half life drawn out lingering, who groan Eaten as if by worms, who dash ourselves Vainly against the ethereal essences That make our boat, who vainly strive to cast Our stricken bodies over the pale edge And drop and end it all. No nerve obeys; But in the torn web of our brains is born The knowledge that release is higher yet. So, lightened of the devils that possessed In myriad hideousness our earthier lives, With one swift impulse, we ourselves shake off The clinging fiends, and shaking even the boat As dust beneath our feet, leap up and run Upward, and flash, and suddenly sigh back Happy, and rest with limbs entwined at last On pale blue air, the empyreal floor, As on a bank of flowers in the old days Before this journey. So I think we slept. But now, awaking, suddenly we feel A sound as if within us, and without, So penetrating and so self-inspired {97B} Sounded the voice we knew as God's. The words Were not a question any more, but said: “The last and greatest is within you now.” Then fire too subtle and omniscient Devoured our substance, and we moved again Not down, not up, but inwards mystically Involving self in self, and light in light. And this was not a pain, but peaceable Like young-eyed love, reviving; it consumed And consecrated and made savour sweet To our changed senses. And the dual self Of love grew less distinct and I began To feel her heart in mine, her lips in mine. … Then mistier grew the sense of God without, And God was I, and nothing might exist, Subsist, or be at all, outside of Me, Myself Existence of Existences. . . . . . We had passed unknowing to the woody crown Of the little hill. There was a secret Vault. We entered. All without the walls appeared As fire, and all within as icy light; The altar was of gold, and on it burnt Some ancient perfume. Then I saw myself And her together, as a priest, whose robe Was white and frail, and covered with a cope Of scarlet bound with gold: upon the head A golden crown, wherein a diamond shone; Within which diamond we beheld our self The higher priest, not clothed, but clothed upon With the white brilliance of high nakedness As with a garment.12) Then of our self there came A voice: “Ye have attained to That which Is; Kiss, and the vision is fulfilled.” And so Our bodies met, and, meeting did not touch But interpenetrated in the kiss . . . . . This writing is engraved on lamina Of silver, found by me, the trusted friend {98A} And loving servant of my lady and lord, In that abandoned Vault, of late destroyed By Etna's fury. Nothing else remained (Save in the ante-room the sword we knew So often flashing at the column-head) Within. I think my lord has written this. Now for the child, whose rearing is my care, And in whose life is left my single hope, This writing shall conclude the book of song His father made in worship and true love Of his fair lady, and these songs shall be His hope, and his tradition, and his pride. Thus have I written for the sake of truth, And for his sake who bears his father's sword – I pray God under my fond guardianship As worthily. Thus far, and so – the end. Previous | Index | Next 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. The Spiritual Journey towards the Supreme Knowledge which is life and bliss. 11. 1) Crowley's biographer will note the astonishing coincidences of scene and incident between this poem and the events of 1903-4. 2) Sappho, the great lyric poet of Greece, plunged from a rock into the sea, according to later tradition. 3) A stream into which a man plunged, and was united, as a Hermaphrodite, with its attendant nymph. The reference is connected with Sappho's loves. See her Ode to Aphrodite and Swinburn's Anactoria and Hermaphroditus. 4) Narcissus, a beautiful youth, inaccessible to love. Echo, a nymph enamoured of him, died of neglect. To punish him, Nemesis caused him to behold his image in a pool; he pined of love for the reflection, and was changed into the flower which still bears his name. 5) The reader may consult Keats's poem of “Endymion.” 6) A gentle sophistication of the story of Actaeon who beheld Artemis at the bath, and being changed into a stag, was torn to pieces by her hounds. 7) From sophistication Crowley proceeds to pure invention. 8) In Arctic latitudes the sun hardly rises at all from September to March, and is only visible in the south. 9) Referring to the story of the accidental discovery of the mine of Potosi by a man who, plucking of a plant, found its roots shining with silver. 10) The Spiritual Journey towards the Supreme Knowledge which is life and bliss. 11) Macroprosopus. 12) See the Description of the robes and crown of the Magus in the Book of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage. Thelema If you have found this material useful or enlightening, you may also be interested in Thelema Liber Legis, The Book of the Law Ordo Templi Orientis A∴A∴ Trademark Ordo Templi Orientis, O.T.O., and the O.T.O. Lamen design are registered trademarks of Ordo Templi Orientis. Copyright All copyrights on Aleister Crowley material are held by Ordo Templi Orientis. This site is not an official O.T.O. website, and is neither sponsored by nor controlled by Ordo Templi Orientis. The text of this Aleister Crowley material is made available here only for personal and non-commercial use. This material is provided here in a convenient searchable form as a study resource for those seekers looking for it in their research. For any commercial use, please contact Ordo Templi Orientis. Last modified: 2017/07/13 07:01by John Bell