A poem by Alistar Crowley (1875-1947)
To-night I tread the unsubstantial way
That looms before me, as the thundering night
Falls on the ocean: I must stop, and pray
One little prayer, and then; what bitter fight
Flames at the end beyond the darkling goal?
These are my passions that my feet must read;
This is my sword, the fervour of my soul;
This is my Will, the crown upon my head.
For see! the darkness beckons: I have gone,
Before this terrible hour, towards the gloom,
Braved the wild dragon, called the tiger on
With whirling cries of pride, sought out the tomb
Where lurking vampires battened, and my steel
Has wrought its splendour through the gates of death
My courage did not falter: now I feel
My heart beat wave-wise, and my throat catch breath
As if I choked; some horror creeps between
The spirit of my will and its desire,
Some just reluctance to the Great Unseen
That coils its nameless terrors, and its dire
Fear round my heart; a devil cold as ice
Breathes somewhere, for I feel his shudder take
My veins: some deadlier asp or cockatrice
Slimes in my senses: I am half awake,
Half automatic, as I move along
Wrapped in a cloud of blackness deep as hell,
Hearing afar some half-forgotten song
As of disruption; yet strange glories dwell
Above my head, as if a sword of light,
Rayed of the very Dawn, would strike within
The limitations of this deadly night
That folds me for the sign of death and sin –
O Light! descend! My feet move vaguely on
In this amazing darkness, in the gloom
That I can touch with trembling sense. There shone
Once, in my misty memory, in the womb
Of some unformulated thought, the flame
And smoke of mighty pillars; yet my mind
Is clouded with the horror of this same
Path of the wise men: for my soul is blind
Yet: and the foemen I have never feared
I could not see (if such should cross the way),
And therefore I am strange: my soul is seared
With desolation of the blinding day
I have come out from: yes, that fearful light
Was not the Sun: my life has been the death,
This death may be the life: my spirit sight
Knows that at last, at least. My doubtful breath
Is breathing in a nobler air; I know,
I know it in my soul, despite of this,
The clinging darkness of the Long Ago,
Cruel as death, and closer than a kiss,
This horror of great darkness. I am come
Into this darkness to attain the light:
To gain my voice I make myself as dumb:
That I may see I close my outer sight:
So, I am here. My brows are bent in prayer:
I kneel already in the Gates of Dawn;
And I am come, albeit unaware,
To the deep sanctuary: my hope is drawn
From wells profounder than the very sea.
Yea, I am come, where least I guessed it so,
Into the very Presence of the Three
That Are beyond all Gods. And now I know
What spiritual Light is drawing me
Up to its stooping splendour. In my soul
I feel the Spring, the all-devouring Dawn,
Rush with my Rising. There, beyond the goal,
The Veil is rent!
Yes: let the veil be drawn.
A few random poems:
- Do not be ashamed by Wendell Berry
- colors_and_sounds.html
- Sir Hugh; Or The Jew’s Daughter poem – Andrew Lang poems
- Владимир Британишский – Иона
- Sonnet 12
- Priorities of Life and Death
- Sheppard’s Quest by Shawn Ervin
- Владимир Британишский – О, растенья-пустынники дюнных песков
- The Lover Asks Forgiveness Because Of His Many Moods by William Butler Yeats
- Her Dream by William Butler Yeats
- Олег Григорьев – Кресло рассохлось
- Олег Бундур – Учительница открыла журнал
- A Lover From Palestine by Mahmoud Darwish
- O You Whom I Often and Silently Come. by Walt Whitman
- Нина Воронель – Ломбардная баллада
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Coal-Truck by T. Wignesan
- Cinderella by Roald Dahl
- blessing for sound health by matthew scott harris
- Black Lake by Memphis Knight
- Before The Law by Michael Major
- A Conceit by Maya Angelou
- A Rythm Upon Our Trusts by Michael McGovern
- Your Poems on My Patio by Martina Reisz Newberry
- Yesterday’s Mishaps by Mary Etta Metcalf
- Yes Dear by Mary Etta Metcalf
- Words Unspoken by Mark Olynyk
- Woman With Parasol by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Why Write? by Mark Olynyk
- Where Have We All Gone by Mary Etta Metcalf
- What is Poetry? by Mark Olynyk
- Wednesday by Marvin Bell
- To Sea by Martin Zakovski
- To Dorothy by Marvin Bell
- They Thought Her Crazy by Mary Etta Metcalf
- These Green-Going-to-Yellow by Marvin Bell
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
