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Correspondence from Frank Harris to Aleister Crowley
3, Washington Square, N. New York.
8.6.1916
My dear Crowley:
All night I've been in pain with a d----d foot; so lay—conjuring pain to pleasure—by reading yr book and now want to tell you about it, or rather don't want to, but feel I ought—some itch of duty misunderstood.
I had hitherto taken pages 60-63 to be you—especially that After Judgment, the triumphant stoic, as I call it, and some hint of pity infinite in the four lines of Athor & Asar beginning or rather ending in the couplet
. . . . For in the icy Kiss of death I found that God that is denied to man.
Here with Sport and Marriage parenthesized just to show wide Knowledge of Life I thought I had you all, to measure you, guess the rest—a cry of passion and courage invincible hymned superbly—a sort of further throw of Swinburne's soul with modern variations—deep enough to be distinct.
In Rosa Decidua there is more (no wonder you pointed me to it), a despairing view of life—"beats of a senseless drum—all's filth," to "My tongue is palsied . . . . exquisite agony." Astounding realism raised to Art by perfect authority.
Here and there obscurities to me, matched by neologisms in other poems but the whole effect undeniable—full of tragic greatness. I congratulate you! But then I'm a poet, still you wanted my opinion: I can only give it frankly. You've just phoned me—I'm in every morning and eve 9.
Not well to-day but ever cordially yours,
Frank Harris.
If I get a paper I'll write this better.
Yours ever,
Frank Harris.
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