Four Poems

FOUR POEMS
By ALEISTER CROWLEY

Eatest thou me, O Sekhet, cat of the Sun?
      O thou that hast eaten up the Apep-snake!
O thou that hath passed the pylons one by one
      Till the nineteenth God came wallowing in thy wake!
Thou hast whispered me the wonder unknown of them
That I am Amoun, that I am Mentu, that I am Khem!

Thou hast eaten the snake, O Sekhet, cat of the Sun!
      Thou hast led me about the earth in a wizard walk;
Thou hast loved me at every pylon, one by one,
      Thou hast — hast thou armed me, Sekhet, against the hawk?
I am winged and erect and naked for thee, my Lord.
Have I any shield, have I any helm, have I any sword?

Thou hast eaten the snake, O Sekhet, cat of the Sun!
      Shall I be strong to strike at the black hawk’s throat?
Shall we tread on the Sebek-crocodiles, one by one?
      On the Nile, the Nile of the Gods, shall we sail in our boat?
Yea, we are strong, we are strong, we shall conquer them!
For I am Amoun, for I am Mentu, for I am Khem!

———

I have walked warily warily long enough
      In the valley of the Shadow of Life,
Distrusting the false moons of Love,
      Many a mistress — never a wife!
I have gone armed with spear and shield
      Horsed on the stallion of the sun;
I slew false knights on many a field
      — Crown me at last, Hilarion!

I have walked masterfully enough
      In the valley of the Shadow of Death;
Now on mine eyes the sun of Love
      — True Love — breathes once the Kiss of Breath.
I am come through the gate of God
      Clothed in the mantle of the Sun;
In thine abyss, in thine abode
      Hold me at last, Hilarion!

Thou pulse of purple in God’s heart
      Monotonous and musical,
Hilarion, to live apart
      Is not to live at all.

Together we may work and play,
      Always thy mood a match for mine;
Apart, ghoul-night haunts phantom-day;
      We only pule and pine.

Love twists his tendrils on our limbs.
      Now Carnival is turned to Lent,
We that harped holy and happy hymns
      Awake the lute’s lament.

O love, endure the iron hours.       “Love under Will” shall bear us on To Easter, and the world of flowers —       Our world, Hilarion.

———

I stood upon the mountain at the dawn;
The snows were iridescent at my feet;
My soul leapt forth immaculate to greet
The sunrise; thence all life and sense were drawn
Into the vision. Limpid on the dawn
The fount of Godhead flowed — how subtly sweet
That distillation of the Paraclete!
I drank; the angel flowered in the faun.

Transfigured from the struggle to success,
I was abolished in mine happiness.
I find no word — in all my words! — but one.
Supreme arcanum of the Rose and Rood,
Sublime acceptance of the Greatest Good,
Only one word — thy name — Hilarion!

{62}


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