Aleister Crowley, born Edward Alexander Crowley, and also known as both Frater Perdurabo and The Great Beast, was an influential English occultist, mystic, ceremonial magician, poet and mountaineer, who was responsible for founding the religious philosophy of Thelema. In his role as the founder of the Thelemite philosophy, he came to see himself as the prophet who was entrusted with informing humanity that it was entering the new Aeon of Horus in the early 20th century.
Born into a wealthy upper class family, as a young man he became an influential member of the esoteric Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn after befriending the order's leader, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers. ... more »
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Aleister Crowley Poems
Hymn to Lucifer
Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act? Without its climax, death, what savour hath Life? an impeccable machine, exact He paces an inane and pointless path
Hymn to Pan
Thrill with lissome lust of the light, O man ! My man ! Come careering out of the night Of Pan ! Io Pan .
I bring ye wine from above, From the vats of the storied sun; For every one of yer love, And life for every one.
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich] In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
As night hath stars, more rare than ships In ocean, faint from pole to pole, So all the wonder of her lips Hints her innavigable soul.
Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced, The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced, In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
"Aug." 10, 1911. Full moon to-night; and six and twenty years Since my full moon first broke from angel spheres!
Come to my arms --- is it eve? is it morn? Is Apollo awake? Is Diana reborn? Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hush Is it the nightingale? Is it the thrush?
Boo to Buddha
So it is eighteen years, Helena, since we met! A season so endears, Nor you nor I forget
(An Oath wrtitten during the Dawn Meditation) Aiwaz! Confirm my troth with thee ! my will inspire With secret sperm of subtle, free, creating Fire!
Lyric of Love to Leah
Come, my darling, let us dance To the moon that beckons us To dissolve our love in trance Heedless of the hideous
Kill off mankind, And give the Earth a chance! Nature might find In her inheritance
For Margot Snow that fallest from heaven, bear me aloft on thy wings
Gabriel whispered in mine ear His archangelic poesie. How can I write? I only hear The sobbing murmur of the sea.
Quotationsmore quotations »
''I can imagine myself on my death-bed, spent utterly with lust to touch the next world, like a boy asking for his first kiss from a woman.''Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), British occultist. The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, ch. 54 (1929, rev. 1970).
''I was asked to memorise what I did not understand; and, my memory being so good, it refused to be insulted in that manner.''Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), British occultist. The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, ch. 5 (1929, rev.1970). Of geometry lessons.
Love stories are only fit for the solace of people in the insanity of puberty. No healthy adult human being can really care whether so-and-so does or does not succeed in satisfying his physiological u...Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), British occultist. The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, ch. 50 (1929, rev. 1970).
Indubitably, Magick is one of the subtlest and most difficult of the sciences and arts. There is more opportunity for errors of comprehension, judgement and practice than in any other branch of physic...Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), British occultist. The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, ch. 20 (1929, rev. 1970).
''The pious pretence that evil does not exist only makes it vague, enormous and menacing.''Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), British occultist. The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, ch. 33 (1929, revised 1970).
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Hymn to Lucifer
Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.
His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden's imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse