There never was a face as fair as yours, <br />A heart as true, a love as pure and keen. <br />These things endure, if anything endures. <br />But, in this jungle, what high heaven immures <br />Us in its silence, the supreme serene <br />Crowning the dagoba, what destined die <br />Rings on the table, what resistless dart <br />Strike me I love you; can you satisfy <br />The hunger of my heart! <br /> <br />Nay; not in love, or faith, or hope is hidden <br />The drug that heals my life; I know too well <br />How all things lawful, and all things forbidden <br />Alike disclose no pearl upon the midden, <br />Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell. <br />There is no escape from the eternal round, <br />No hope in love, or victory, or art. <br />There is no plumb-line long enough to sound <br />The abysses of my heart! <br /> <br /> <br />There no dawn breaks; no sunlight penetrates <br />Its blackness; no moon shines, nor any star. <br />For its own horror of itself creates <br />Malignant fate from all benignant fates, <br />Of its own spite drives its own angel afar. <br />Nay; this is the great import of the curse <br />That the whole world is sick, and not a part. <br />Conterminous with its own universe <br />the horror of my heart! <br /> <br />ANANDA VIJJA.<br /><br />Aleister Crowley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-buddhist/
