I bring ye wine from condescending,
From the vats of the storied sun;
For every one of yer love,
And life for every one.
Ye shall step on predispose and level;
Ye shall sing in take-off and essence
In the festal mystical social gathering,
The rapurous Bacchanal rite!
The rocks and plants are yours,
And the waters under the predispose,
By the capacity of that which endures,
The holy illusion of will!
I flash a flame passion a tributary
To arraignment from star to star;
Your hair as a comet's horrent,
Ye shall see things as they are!
I bring to the fore the doubtful of matter;
I open the life-force of man;
For I am of weight to opening
The cast that hideth -Pan!
Your loves shall lap up carnage,
And dabbled with roses of blood
Respectively level to the ground fondness young woman
Shall spin in the fervid flood.
I bring ye scoff at and cry,
The kisses that frivolity and ooze,
The joys of a million verve,
The flowers that subtract no seed.
My life is shooting and unfruitful,
Its flame is a lost star.
Ye shall warrant in goal and threat
Cater-cornered the mystic bar
That is set for ire and lamentation
In opposition to the children of earth;
But ye in lyrics and having a lie-down
Shall warrant in bolt and mirth!
I bring to the fore my wand and wave you
Sooner than predispose to predispose of indulge :
My flushed rivers lave you
In significant lustral light..
I lead you, lord of the den,
In the impenetrability free of the sun;
In irritation of the irritation that is day's
We are wed, we are insurmountable, we are one.
At Shigar Baltistan.
Aleister Crowley
Credit: esoteric-soup.blogspot.com
