THE SWORD OF SONG 
4
Shields ?  Be they paper, paint, lath ?  They shall cover  
Well as they may, the big heart of a lover ! 
Swords ?  Let the lightning of Truth strike the fortress 
Frowning of God !  I will sever one more tress 
Off the White Beard22 with his son’s blood besprinkled, 
Carve one more gash in the forehead23 hate-wrinkled:—   
So, using little arms, earn one day better ones; 
Cutting the small chains,24 learn soon to unfetter one’s 
Limbs from the large ones, walk forth and be free!— 
So much for Browning ! and so much for me ! 
 
Pray do not ask me where I stand ! 
“Who asks, doth err.”25  At least demand 
No folly such as answer means ! 
“But if” (you26 say) “your spirit weans 
Itself of milk-and-water pap, 
And one religion as another 
O’erleaps itself and falls on the other;27 
You’ll tell me why at least, mayhap, 
Our Christianity excites 
Especially such petty spites 
As these you strew throughout your verse.” 
The chance of birth!  I choose to curse 
(Writing in English28) just the yoke 
Of faith that tortures English folk. 
I cannot write29 a poem yet 
To please the people in Tibet; 
But when I can, Christ shall not lack 
Peace, while their Buddha I attack.30  
 
Yet by-and-by I hope to weave 
A song of Anti-Christmas Eve 
And First- and Second- Beast-er Day. 
There’s one*31 who loves me dearly (vrai !) 
Who yet believes me sprung from Tophet, 
Either the Beast or the False Prophet; 
And by all sorts of monkey tricks 
Adds up my name to Six Six Six.  
 
 
Retire, good Gallup !32  In such strife her 
Superior skill makes you a cipher ! 
 
1 Crowley’s mother. 
70
75
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85
90
95
100
105
His 
achievement. 
Plan of poem. 
“Connspuez  
Dieu!” 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Apology for 
manner of 
poem. 
A chance for 
Tibet. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Hopes.  Iden- 
tity of poet.  
Attention  
drawn to my 
highly decora-
tive cover.