Out of the night forth flamed a star mine own.
Now seventy light years nearer as I urge,
Constant my heart through the abyss unknown,
Its glory my sole guide while space surge,
About me. Seventy light years, As I near
that gate of light that men call death, its cold
Pale gleam begins to pulse, a throbbing sphere,
Systole and diastole of eager gold,
New life immortal, warmth of passion bleed,
Till night's black velvet burn to crimson. Hark,
It is thy voice, Thy word, the secret seed
Of rapture that admonishes the dark.
Swift by necessity most righteous drawn,
Hermes, authentic augur of the dawn.
Constant my heart through the abyss unknown,
Its glory my sole guide while space surge,
About me. Seventy light years, As I near
that gate of light that men call death, its cold
Pale gleam begins to pulse, a throbbing sphere,
Systole and diastole of eager gold,
New life immortal, warmth of passion bleed,
Till night's black velvet burn to crimson. Hark,
It is thy voice, Thy word, the secret seed
Of rapture that admonishes the dark.
Swift by necessity most righteous drawn,
Hermes, authentic augur of the dawn.
(Aleister Crowley)