White Stains. Aleister Crowley

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      He. Draw nigh, sweet maiden, violets blush at birth,

      Pale lilies tinge with crimson, as the snow

      At dawn's approach, the pansy's darksome dye

      Deepens when tender winds blow over it

      And give its beauties to the summer's gaze:

      So blush at being mine, yet gently come

      And place a dainty hand within my hold

      Too delicate to crush it into warmth,

      Save that blood mantling to thy cheek shall flow

      Back to the fingers, though I press them not.

      And so I will not hesitate to put

      A ring upon thy hand, sweet mystery

      Of Love's device, to shadow in our hearts

      Th' Eternity of an immortal self

      That is, and shall be while the stars endure,

      Or while a God of Love is pitiful

      Of all men's sorrows, and most happy in

      Their joys-

      She. Ah! joys are fleeting!-

      He. But our love

      Is anchored in the portals of the dawn

      Where heaven begins.

      She. And heaven begins with us

      This day. Behold the flowers, whose kindly gaze

      Of modest love is on us as we stand,

      And clasp fond hands before high Heaven to swear

      Truth an eternal bond, no parchment scroll

      Of perishable matter ill devised

      And scored upon with perishable ink,

      But in our pulses' quick delight to live

      From day to day renewed, as if a fount

      Of God's mysterious stream, that here a man

      May wet his ankle, and again immerse

      Unto his knees, and yet again assay

      To cross its silver depth and find himself

      Swimming in crystal coldness on a sea

      Broad as God's mercy and as deep as Love.

      He. And whose strong tide shall bear our spirit out

      Into the ocean of all happiness

      Whose bounds are Heaven.

      She. See! the scythe of Time

      Sweeps on to cut the new-born flowers in twain

      That symbolizes the reluctant hour

      In which we met - and now the flower is dead

      And we must part.

      He. Fond hearts, chaste souls, as one

      Whose unity is sacred, still shall dwell

      Together - Not the cold embrace

      Of 'We shall meet again', but let us say

      The ritual of a lover, being this

      'God be with you!'

      She. O heart too dear to me,

      Too much beloved for lover's tongue to tell,

      God be with you! Farewell, sweet heart!

      He. Farewell.

      (EXEUNT).

      DESUNT CETERA.