Concerning Death by Aleister Crowley in International, Dec 1917.

“Behold her bending down above thee, a flame of blue, all-touching, all-penetrant, her lovely hands upon the black earth and her lithe body arched for love, and her soft feet not hurting the little flowers, and think that all thy grossness shall presently fall from thee as thou leanest to her embrace, caught up into her love as a dewdrop into the kisses of the sunrise.” [via]