At fall of dusk;
A summer dragonfly-
Crept from the husk.
Dragonfly, on whose wing
Run golden wires;
So, down a street pavement,
Lamps throw their fires.
Dragonfly, whose wing is pricked
By many a spark;
Electric eyes of taxis
Bright through the dark.
Dragonfly, whose life is
Cold and brief as dew,
Drone now for London dusk,
Soon dead too."
Dead, but not forgotten. We remember Raoul Loveday, Thelemic Saint, whose great destiny was not cancelled but merely postponed awhile.
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Anonymous - Reaching Out To WiccansAleister Crowley - Songs For Italy
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