Aleister
Crowley .
THE
GOAD .
AMSTERDAM ,
December
23rd ,
1897.
ET me
pass
out beyond
the
city
gate .
All
day
I
loitered
in
the
little
streets
Of black
worn
houses
tottering,
like
the
fate
That hangs above my head
even
now , and
meets
Prayer
and
defiance
as not
hearing
it.
They
lean , these
old
black
streets ! a
little
sky
Peeps
through
the
gap,
the
rough
stone
path
is
lit
Just
for
a
little
by
the
sun
,
and
I
Watch
his red
face
pass
over
,
fade away
To
other
streets
,
and other
passengers
,
See
him
take
pleasure where
the heathen
pray
,
See
him
relieve
the
hunter
of
his furs
,
All
the wide world
awaiting
him
,
all
folk
Glad
at
his
coming
,
only
I
must
weep
;
Rest
he
or
sink
,
my weary
eyes
invoke
Only
the
respite
of
a
little
sleep
;
Sleep
,
just
a
little
space
of
sleep
,
to
rest
The fevered
head
and
cool
the
aching
eyes
;
Sleep
for
a
space
,
to
fall
upon
the
breast
Of
the
dear God
,
that He may sympathize
.
Long has
the
day
drawn
out
;
a
bitter
frost
Sparkles
along
the
streets
;
the
shipping
heaves
With
the
slow
murmur
of
the
sea
,
half lost
In
the
last
rustle
of
forgotten
leaves
.
Over the bridges
pass
the throngs
;
the
sound
,
Deep
and
insistent
,
penetrates
the mist
50