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"It is ill to blaspheme the silence with a wicked whispered thought- How still they were, those nights! when this web of things was wrought! How still, how terrible! O my dolorous tender brides, As I lay and dreamt in the dark by your shameful beautiful sides! And now you are mine no more, I know; but I cannot bear The curse-that another is drunk on the life that stirs your hair: Every hair was alive with a spark of midnight's delicate flame, Or a glow of the nether fire, or an old illustrious shame." - The Hermetic Library Blog
Synthesis in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley. “It is ill to blaspheme the silence with a wicked whispered thought— How still they were, those nights! when this web of things was wrought! How still, how terrible! O my dolorous tender brides, …