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
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience.
poem by Aleister Crowley
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Related quotes
Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Lucifer
Created to exact design
without fault in his construct,
with a choice between good and bad
he glittered among the fiery stones
and gathered in counsel with the other
sons of God.
An cherub set above
other angels as a mighty being,
but his own appraisal of me and I
and self
and of his glittering beauty,
made him egoistic, a god
equal to the Most High
in his own view.
Mighty above mere man
and among other celestial beings
he persuaded other angels to follow him
and he went to war
against Michael and the angelic host.
Glowing ruby red
like the radiant sun,
the fire in his spirit
made him a dragon,
consumed himself
and everyone that followed him
with hate, lust, jealousy and deceit
and they were smitten down to earth.
With great guile as a sneaky snake
did he in Eden appear
and tempted the woman Eve to hear
about disobedience
and left the knowledge of good and bad
and she saw something in his eyes
that she could not comprehend,
with one deed followed him
and man lost his innocence
and distrust, destruction, death,
pain and ruin followed soon.
[References: Ezekiel 28: 13-17. Revelation 12: 7-17. Genesis 3: 1-4.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet XLIX: Thou Leaden Brain
Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love.
But thou, whose pen hath like a pack-horse serv'd,
Whose stomach unto gall hath turn'd thy food,
Whose senses, like poor prisoners, hunger-starv'd,
Whose grief hath parch'd thy body, dried thy blood,
Thou which hast scorned life and hated death,
And in a moment mad, sober, glad, and sorry,
Thou which hast bann'd thy thoughts and curs'd thy breath
With thousand plagues, more than in Purgatory,
Thou thus whose spirit Love in his fire refines,
Come thou, and read, admire, applaud my lines.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Suttee
LAMP of my life, the lips of Death
Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath;
Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . .
Love, must I dwell in the living dark?
Tree of my life, Death's cruel foot
Hath crushed thee down to thy hidden root;
Nought shall restore thy glory fled . . .
Shall the blossom live when the tree is dead?
Life of my life, Death's bitter sword
Hath severed us like a broken word,
Rent us in twain who are but one . .
Shall the flesh survive when the soul is gone?
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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XXXVI Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of the Life: 36. Life-in-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Heartfelt Prayer, Answered
Though dwell with me, my love, you do not-
Still, dwell do you, in me-in my every thought;
Perchance not, my beloved, you are my reward-
The faith I hath shown in Him, He hath not ignored!
In prayer, I beseeched Him: 'Ask not do I, Lord, very much-
Need do I this: a life, lived, where I may feel an Angel's touch;
May She be always nearest me, always, beside me:
To duteously honor, protect, love and guide me! '
To which, He said unto me: 'Your faith hath surely been tested,
Yet, in your fidelity towards Me, never have you once rested;
My most beauteous and entrusted Angel, unto you, I do send,
To steadfastly watch over and guide you, this shan't ever end!
A love, you shall see, like none other-ne'er before, nor since-
This shall be a familiar love, one whose genesis is not hence;
In another time, and in another place-yet, that was but a prelude,
Not prime, nor sikerly, until learned were you from your disquiettude!
In My stead, She shall protect your fragile heart from any form of harm-
Beguile and amaze too-inspire you with awe, through Her charm!
She too hath been made to be prime for this new-found reconnoiter-
Many too hath made Her to be weary, for shame, did they exploit her!
Your charge: as She shall, you-protect, love and do guide Her-
Her noble Cavalier; Defer always, Her honor; Walk always beside Her!
For certain, your's is a love made of My benevolent making,
All love capable of offer, your's each, now for your fortuitous taking! '
As much import I place upon this, as the love upon which it was given;
So too shall I be the sole guardian of the gift for which I have striven-
None shall e' er come betwixt we two, nor cause our love, strife-
From the moment of our rendezvous, afresh-You have been my life!
Maurice Harris,29 November 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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My Secret. (From The French Of Felix Arvers)
My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history,
And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.
Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,
For ever at her side and yet for ever lonely,
I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only
Daring to ask for nought, and having nought received.
For her, though God hath made her gentle and endearing,
She will go on her way distraught and without hearing
These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend,
Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,
Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,
Who can this woman be? and will not comprehend.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Love's Phases
Love hath the wings of the butterfly,
Oh, clasp him but gently,
Pausing and dipping and fluttering by
Inconsequently.
Stir not his poise with the breath of a sigh;
Love hath the wings of the butterfly.
Love hath the wings of the eagle bold,
Cling to him strongly--
What if the look of the world be cold,
And life go wrongly?
Rest on his pinions, for broad is their fold;
Love hath the wings of the eagle bold.
Love hath the voice of the nightingale,
Hearken his trilling--
List to his song when the moonlight is pale,--
Passionate, thrilling.
Cherish the lay, ere the lilt of it fail;
Love hath the voice of the nightingale.
Love hath the voice of the storm at night,
Wildly defiant.
Hear him and yield up your soul to his might,
Tenderly pliant.
None shall regret him who heed him aright;
Love hath the voice of the storm at night.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Records of Romantic Passion
THERE’S a rare Soul of Poesy which may be
But concentrated by the chastened dreams
Of constant hearts. Where’er the ministry
Of beautiful Nature hath enhanced the themes
Of some Petrarchian mind whose story gleams
Within the Past like a moon-silvered sea,
Or where grey Interest the spirit free
Of faithful Love hath caged in iron schemes,
Or round it stirr’d such dangers as o’erdrove
Long Ruin’s storm at last—there evermore
The very airs that whisper to the grove,
The echo’s mystery and the streamlet’s lore
Savour of Passion and transfusive pour
Abroad suggestions to heroic Love.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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The Curse
WHOEVER guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows
Who is my mistress, wither by this curse;
Him, only for his purse
May some dull whore to love dispose,
And then yield unto all that are his foes;
May he be scorn'd by one, whom all else scorn,
Forswear to others, what to her he hath sworn,
With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn.
Madness his sorrow, gout his cramps, may he
Make, by but thinking who hath made him such;
And may he feel no touch
Of conscience, but of fame, and be
Anguish'd, not that 'twas sin, but that 'twas she;
Or may he for her virtue reverence
One that hates him only for impotence,
And equal traitors be she and his sense.
May he dream treason, and believe that he
Meant to perform it, and confesses, and die,
And no record tell why;
His sons, which none of his may be,
Inherit nothing but his infamy;
Or may he so long parasites have fed,
That he would fain be theirs whom he hath bred,
And at the last be circumcised for bread.
The venom of all stepdames, gamesters' gall,
What tyrants and their subjects interwish,
What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish,
Can contribute, all ill, which all
Prophets or poets spake, and all which shall
Be annex'd in schedules unto this by me,
Fall on that man; For if it be a she
Nature beforehand hath out-cursèd me.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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He That Hath Ears
'He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.'-
St. John the Divine.
The Spirit says unto the churches,
'Ere ever the churches began
I lived in the centre of Being-
The life of the Purpose and Plan;
I flowed from the mind of the Maker
Through nature to man.
'I sleep in the glow of the jewel,
I wake in the sap of the tree,
I stir in the beast of the forest,
I reason in man, and am free
To turn on the path of Ascension
To the god yet to be.
'I was, and I am, and I will be;
I live in each church and each faith,
But yield to no bond and no fetter,
I animate all with my breath;
I speak through the voice of the living,
And I speak after death.'
The Spirit says unto the churches
'The dead are not gone, they are near;
And my voice, when I will it, speaks through them,
Speaks through them in messages clear.
And he that hath ears, in the silence
May listen and hear.'
The Spirit says unto the churches,
'So many the feet that have trod
The road leading up into knowledge,
The steep narrow path has grown broad;
And the curtain held down by old dogmas
Is lifted by God.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The fountain of content must spring up in the mind, and he who hath so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing anything but his own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless efforts and multiply the grief he proposes to remove.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 105
Heaven invisible and holy.
1 Cor. 2:9,10; Rev. 21:27.
Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor sense nor reason known,
What joys the Father hath prepared
For those that love the Son.
But the good Spirit of the Lord
Reveals a heav'n to come;
The beams of glory in his word
Allure and guide us home.
Pure are the joys above the sky,
And all the region peace;
No wanton lips nor envious eye
Can see or taste the bliss.
Those holy gates for ever bar
Polution, sin, and shame
None shall obtain admittance there
But followers of the Lamb.
He keeps the Father's book of life,
There all their names are found;
The hypocrite in vain shall strive
To tread the heav'nly ground
poem by Isaac Watts
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Anomalous
What hath a mind
If it hath not a choice
What hath a man
If he hath not a voice
What is a man
If the voice the man hath
Is that of another
On a surrogate path
Rather I say
Inimitably give
Make each moment yours
Expectations, outlive
Bring no shame upon
How you sound or appear
Speak loud, proud,
Conscious, and clear
You're not born with a voice
It forms over time
Just speak for yourself
You'll turn out sublime
poem by Brandon McConnell
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To Her Whose Name
To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;
To her whose face,
The flower and crown of all created things,
Dearer than even Spring's,
Hath been to me a sacrament of grace;
Whose luminous mind,
Stored with all gladness of the earth and sky,
Hath lightened my sad eye
And made it wise in love which erst was blind;
Whose voice of pleasure,
Calling to joys as a blithe wedding bell
When ringers ring it well,
Hath tuned my soul to its own happy measure;
Whose blessed hand,
With its white mystery of fingers five,
Each one a soul alive,
Hath taught me truths no angels understand;
Whose arms within,
Should she once clasp me to her very heart,
God knoweth we should not part
But live for aye in Heaven's own bliss divine;
To her, alas,
Who is so near, yet standeth still so far,
Seeing the mortal bar
Betwixt us ever which we cannot pass,
These lines I send
With my heart's tears to--night beseeching her,
Of her dear love more dear,
To be no less to me my sweetest soul and friend.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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True Being
True Being
Rich hour! is not thy gift a radiant thing?
The truth here blazoned in this marble and gold,
Here writ in this refulgence manifold,
Hath sunned my groped redemption: lo, I fling--
How lightly!--off ungraced desire; I cling
To that faith firm this splendour hath retold:
My spirit, towered, doth its sheer track behold,
And shakes the dust of chaos from its wing.
Life that is death, riches named with a lie,
This fane would, that the sum of both employs,
Your tears unseal if ignorance could weep.
Is not true being locked in tombs? and die
Must not we in death ere life's innater joys
We may, as I now, clasp as in a sleep?
poem by William Baylebridge
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