Aleister
Crowley .
Thunder
and
lightning
free
fashioned
for
speech
and
seeing ,
Pinnacles
royal
and
steep,
queen
of
the
arduous
breast !
Ye
on
whose
icy
bosom , passionate ,
at
the
sunrise ,
Ye
in
whose
wind -swept
hollows ,
lulled
in
the
noonrise
clear ,
Often
and
oft
I
struggled ,
a
child
with
an
angry
mother
Often
and oft I
slept, maid
in
a
lover 's arms.
Back
to
ye ,
back ,
wild
towers ,
from
this
flat
and
desolate
fenland ,
Back
to
ye
yet will
I
flee,
swallow
on
wing
to
the
south ;
Move
in
your
purple
cloud -banks
and
leap
your far
swelling
torrents,
Bathe
in
the
pools
below ,
laugh
with
the
winds
above
,
Battle
and
strive
and
climb
in
the teeth
of
the
glad
wild
weather
,
Flash
on
the slopes
of
ice
,
dance
on
the spires
of
rock
,
Run
like
a
glad
young
panther
over
the
stony
high
lands
,
Shout with the joy
of
living
,
race
to
the
rugged
cairn
,
Feel the
breath
of
your
freedom
burn
in
my veins
,
and
Freedom
!
Freedom
!
echoes
adown
cliff
and
precipitous ghyll
.
Down
by
the
cold
grey
lake
the
sun
descends
from
his
hunting
,
Shadow
and
silence
steals
over
the
frozen
fells
.
48