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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Saturday, 13 November 1920
10.15 a.m. This poem seems more or less finished. Damn everything but love lyrics! I think I'll wander back to Cefalu.
1.00 p.m.
Pity is the last insolence of pride. There was a young poet named Keats Who shagged every day in the streets. He did it because The alternative was To shit every night in the sheets.
There was a young poet named Shelley Who much preferred bottom to belly. He argued the former Was tighter and warmer.
There was a young poet named Swinburne Who swore 'May my soul and my skin burn. The prospect appals Not a person whose balls To bugger a Siamese twin burn'.
There was a young poet named Browning Who rescued a virgin from drowning. Next day they got married; Next month she miscarried. His philosophy kept him from frowning.
An old poet named Coventry Patmore Would say he thought no man had shat more Or wetter or worse Or a niftier verse And added: I piss and I cat more!
13 November (continued). Cefalu in p.m. Opus[1] V, 31-666-31 [Leah Hirsig]. Operation: Supremely orgiastic. Elixir: strong, rich, copious. Object: Magnum Opus.
1—[Crowley performs a magical sexual operation.]
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