THE HAWK AND THE BABE

Published in the U.K. Vanity Fair

London, England

3 March 1909

(page 275)

I that am a hawk of gold,

Proud in adamantine poise

On the pillars of turquoise,

See, beyond the starry fold,

Where a darkling orb is rolled.

There, beneath a grove of yew,

Plays a babe. Should I despise

Such a foam of gold, and eyes

Burning berylline, so blue

That the sun seems peeping through?

Did I swoop, were Heaven amazed?

With my beak I strike but once.

Out there leap a million suns.

Through the universe that blazed

Screams their light, and death is dazed.

In my womb the babe may leap;

Seek him not within mine eye!

Nor demand thou of me why

I should plunge from crystal steep

Like a plummet to the deep!

See yon solitary star!

What a world of blackness wraps

Round it! Unimagined gaps!

Let it be! Content thy car

With the voyage to things that are!

Nor, an thou perchance behold

How I plunge and batten on

Earth’s exenterate carrion,

Deem turquoise match midden-mould

Or deny the Hawk of Gold!

Aleister Crowley.