A POETRY SOCIETY—IN MADAGASCAR?

By Aleister Crowley

Published in the International

New York, New York, U.S.A.

January 1918

(page 9)

The Poetry Society. St. Vitus,

St. Borborygmus, aid! The thin screams fell

And rose like spasms in some hothouse hell

Peopled by scraggier harpies than Cocytus.

Dull dirty décolletées dilettante!

I sickened to the soul; above the babble

Of the cacophonous misshapen rabble,

Rose like a cliff the awful form of Dante.

Colossally contemptuous, in airy

Stature the iron eyes of Alighieri

Burn into mine; their razor lightnings carve

My capon soul. “What dost thou here?” they said:

“Art thou not even worthy to be dead?

“Canst thou not go into the street, and starve?”