Tag Archives: bosom

I.NSIT N.ATURAE R.EGINA I.SIS

ALL the hot summer I lay in the darkness,

Calling on the winds to pass by me and slay me,

Slay me with light in the heat of the summer;

But the winds had no answer for one who was fallen

Asleep by the wayside, with no lyre to charm them,

No voice of the lyre, and no song to charm them.

 

Late as I lay there asleep by the wayside,

I heard a voice call to me, low in the silence,

There in the darkness the summer called to me:

“thou who art hidden in the green silence,

Let a time of quietness come now upon thee.

Lay thine head on the earth and slumber on her bosom:

Time and the gods shall pass darkling before thee.”

There in the silence I lay, and I heeded

The slow voice that called me, the grave hand that beckoned,

That beckoned me on through the hall of the silence.

 

There in the silence there was a green goddess,

Folden her wings, and her hands dumbly folden,

Laying in her lay, as though asleep in the darkness.

 

Then did I hail her: “O mother, my mother,

Syren of the silence, dumb voice of the darkness,

How shall I have speech of Thee, who know not Thy speaking?

How shall I behold Thee, who art hidden in the darkness?

Lo! I bend mine eyes before Thee, and no sign dost Thou vouchsafe me;

I whisper love-words before Thee, and I know not if Thou hear me,

Thou who art the darling of the Night and of the Silence;

Yellow art Thou as the sunlight through the corn-fields,

Bright as the sun-dawn on the snow-clad mountains,

Slow as the voice of the great green gliding River.

Calmly in Thy silence am I come to rest me,

Now from the world the light hath slowly faded;

I have left the groves of Pan that I might gaze upon Thee,

Gaze upon the Virgin that before Time was begotten,

Mother of Chronos, and the old gods before him,

Child of the womb of the Silence, whose father

Is the unknown breath of the most secret Goddess,

Whose name whoso hath heard is smitten to madness.

 

“Now do I come before Thee in Thy temple,

With offerings from the oak-woods and the breath of the water

That girds the earth with a girdle of green starlight;

And all the austerity of the brooding summer,

And all the wonder of the starlit spaces

That stare down awesomely upon the lonely marshes,

And the bogs with sucking lips, and the pools that charm the wanderer

Till he forgets the world, and rushes to sleep upon them.”

 

And still there was silence, and the voice of the world swept by me,

Making in mine ears the noise of tumbling waters;

But two voices I heard, and they spake one to the other:

“Who stands with downcast eyes in the temple of our Lady?”

And the answer: “A wanderer from the world who hath sought the halls of silence;

Yet knoweth he not the Bride of the Darkness,

Her of the sable wings, and eyes of terrible blindness

That see through the worlds and find nothing and nothing,

Who would smite the worlds to peace, save that so she would perish,

And cannot, for that she is a goddess silent and immortal,

Utterly immortal in the gods’ eternal darkness.”

 

And the first voice cried: “Oh, that we might perish,

And become as pearls of blackness on the breast of the silence,

Lending the waste places of the world our darkness,

That the vision might burst in the brain of the seer,

And we be formed anew, and reborn in the light world.”

 

But the other voice was silent, and the noise of waters swept me

Back into the world, and I lay asleep on a hill-side.

Bearing for evermore the heart of a goddess,

And the brain of a man, and the wings of the morning

Clipped by the shears of the silence; so must I wander lonely,

Nor know of the light till I enter into the darkness.

 

OMNIA VINCAM (Victor B Neuburg), Equinox I iv

(Obtained in invocation, June 9–10, 1910 O.S.)

 

The Hermetic Library arts and letters pool is a project to publish poetry, prose and art that is inspired by or manifests the Western Esoteric Tradition. If you would like to submit your work for consideration as part of the Arts and Letters pool, contact the librarian.

The Reaper in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“I watched, a leopard, stealthy in the corn,
As if a tigress held herself above;
My body quivered, eager to be torn,
Stung by the snake of some convulsive love!
The leopard changed his spots; for in me leapt
The mate, the tiger. Murderous I sprang
Across the mellow earth: my senses swept,
One torrent flame, one soul-dissolving pang.
How queenly bent her body to the grip!
How lithe it slips, her bosom to my own!
The throat leans back, to tantalise the lip:—
The sudden shame of her is overthrown!” [via]

The Lesbian Hell in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats
And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers
Of swart illimitable hair that floats
Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers
Of your unceasing hours,
The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins,
The eyes that yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs
That cling and cluster to these infinite sins,
Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize,
And raise diviner sighs;
Cling to the white and bloody feet that hang,
And drink the purple of a God’s pure side;
With your wild hair assuage His deadliest pang,
And on His broken bosom still abide
His virginal white bride.” [via]

Ballade de la Jolie Marion in White Stains by Aleister Crowley.

“You say another’s sensuous lips
Shall open to my kisses there:
When weary, steal those luscious sips;
Another’s hands play in my hair
And find delight for me to bare
The bosom, and the passionate mound
White and, for Venus’ temple, round,
A garden of wild thyme whose eye
My sword shall piece, and never wound:
For we must part, and love must die.” [via]

A Jealous Lover in White Stains by Aleister Crowley.

“She creeps alive upon the tawny sands,
False glittering woman, girt about with lies!
She steals toward me, the tigress sleek and fierce!
Destroying devil, with long sinuous hands
And hate triumphant in blue-murderous eyes!
I nerve myself to spring upon and pierce
With maddening fangs those firm white bosom towers,
To tear those lithe voluptuous limbs apart
And glut my ravening soul with vengeance. Heart
Quickens as she draws near; the scent of flowers
Breathes round her damned presence. Shall she live
To triumph with those tainted lips of song —
She whispered ‘Dearest, I have kept thee long’.
I flung myself before her, ‘Love, forgive!'” [via]