The Request

I’AVE often wish’d to love; what shall I do?

Me still the cruel boy does spare;

And I a double task must bear,

First to woo him, and then a mistress too.

Come at last and strike, for shame,

If thou art any thing besides a name;

I’ll think thee else no God to be,

But poets rather Gods, who first created thee.

I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;

Let me but love, whate’er she be,

She cannot seem deform’d to me;

And I would have her seem to others so.

Desire takes wings and straight does fly,

It stays not dully to inquire the Why.

That happy thing, a lover, grown,

I shall not see with others’ eyes, scarce with mine own.

If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire;

If her chill heart I cannot move;

Why I’ll enjoy the very love,

And make a mistress of my own desire.

Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,

And purest light, if compass’d round with cold:

So, when sharp winter means most harm,

The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warm.

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone;

Strike deep thy burning arrows in!

Lukewarmness I account a sin,

As great in love as in religion.

Come arm’d with flames; for I would prove

All the extremities of mighty Love.

Th’ excess of heat is but a fable;

We know the torrid zone is now found habitable.

Among the woods and forests thou art found,

There boars and lions thou dost tame;

Is not my heart a nobler game?

Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound!

Thou dost the birds thy subjects make;

Thy nimble feathers do their wings o’ertake:

Thou all the spring their songs dost hear;

Make me love too, I’ll sing to’ thee all the year!

What service can mute fishes do to thee?

Yet against them thy dart prevails,

Piercing the armour of their scales;

And still thy sea-born mother lives i’th’ sea.

Dost thou deny only to me

The no-great privilege of captivity?

I beg or challenge here thy bow;

Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.

Come! or I ‘ll teach the world to scorn that bow:

I’ll teach them thousand wholesome arts

Both to resist and cure thy darts,

More than thy skilful Ovid e’er did know.

Musick of sighs thou shalt not hear,

Nor drink one wretched lover’s tasteful tear:

Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,

My verses shall not only wound, but murder, thee.

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Poems in English 

• The Four Winds poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• The Five Adorations poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• The Buddhist poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• The Atheist poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Thanatos Basileos poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Prologue to Rodin in Rime poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Power poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Pan to Artemis poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Optimist poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• On; On; Poet poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Lyric of Love to Leah poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Long Odds poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Logos poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Linoz Isidoz poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• La Gitana poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Independence poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Hymn to Pan poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Hymn to Lucifer poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Happy Dust poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley
• Elegy poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster by Aleister Crowley

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Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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