From the peculiar standpoint of
A god who says that he is Love.
x.
That was the poet Crowley’s point.
I think 42s nose is out of joint;
He bet on justice being done ;
And here—it’s really rather fun !—
The unlucky devil devil-spurred
Writes, climbs, does Yoga like a bird;
Just as he was before he ‘* died,”
The ass is never satisfied.
He has only been here forty days,
And has already writ six plays,
Made eight new passes, one new peak,
Is bound to do two more this week,
And as for meditation! Hard he
Soars from Dhyana to Samadhi;
Writes wildly sloka after sloka,
Storms the Arupa-Brahma-Loka,
Disdains the mundane need of Khana,
Slogs off, like Buddha, to Nibbana :—
Poor devil!
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