To a Brunette
Addressed to His Beloved, after a short absence
By Aleister Crowley
Sketches by Reginald Birch
Vanity Fair, February, 1916, p 63
WHEN first your raven beauty made me fond,
Your soul was pure and hard as diamond.
All books on “how to love” I nightly conned;
All suits I thought might please I daily donned;
It stirred not of our soul one lily-frond.
I offered you the rubies of Golcond,
Heaped at your feet the gold of Trebizond:—
But could not bring you the bridal bond.
Darling, I do not utterly despond—
Now that you are a blonde!
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