"With Dog and Dame"

from
the literary remains of
George Archibald Bishop


The ways are golden with the leaves
That Autumn blows about the air,
The trees sing anthems of despair,
And my fair mistress binds the yellow sheaves
Of yellow hair more loose, and weaves
More subtly bars of song, that bear
Bright children of love debonair,
And laughter lightly comes, and reaves
The garland from our sorrow's brow,
Life rises up, is girt with song,
Joy fills the cup, that flashes clear.
The year may fade in whispers now,
Shadow and silence now may throng
The seasons-- we are happy here.

Autumn is on us as we lie
In creamy folds of latticed light
That hint of darkness, but descry
A rosy flicker through the night,
My mistress, my Great Dane, and I.

We linger in the dusk-- her head
Lolls on the pillow, and my eyes
Catch rapture, as upon the bed
He licks her lazy lips, and tries
To tempt her tongue.  My fires are fed.

Her heavy dropping breasts entice
My teeth to jewel them with blood,
Her hand prepares the sacrifice
She would desire of me, the flood
That wells from shrines of Paradise.

Her other hand is mischievieous
To bid the monster Dane grow mad,
His red-haw gaze grows mutinous,
Her eyes have lost all calm they had,
My body grows all amourous.

My tongue within her mouth excites
Her dirtiest lust, her vilest dream;
His greedy mouth her bosom bites;
He cannot hold, his eyeballs gleam;
He burns to consummate the rites.

I yield him place: his ravening teeth
Cling hard to her-- he buries him
Insane and furious in the sheath
She opens for him-- wide and dim.
My mouth is amourous beneath.

Her lips devour me, and I rave
With pleasure to discern the love
They twain exert, my lips who lave
With double dew distilled above
To dog and woman I'm a slave,

Nor move, though now essays the Dane
To cool his weapon in my mouth;
Her lust bestrides me, and is fain
To quench in his sweet sweat the drouth.
Her fingers probe our bowels again.

All three enjoy once more, and I
Am ever ready to renew
These bestial orgie-nights, whereby
Loose woman's love is spiced, as dew
On tender spray of Spring doth lie.

Like the cold moon to earth and sun
My mistress lingers in eclipse,
We wake her passion, either one
Licking each pouting pair of lips
'Til new sweet streams of nectar run.

'Tis Autumn, and the dying breeze
Murmurs "Embrace!";  the moon replies
"Embrace!";  the soughing of the trees
Calls us to linger loverwise,
And drain our passion to the lees.

'Tis Autumn.  The belated dove
Calls through the beeches, that bestir
Themselves to kiss the skies above
As I will kiss, with him and her.
Leave us, sweet Autumn, to our love.

--1898




(...submitted By Darkwolf, February 16, 1997)

Darkwolf adds:

"...the poem is by Crowley (under the pseudonym George Archibald 
Bishop, as are all the poems in "White Stains... Petals from a 
Prelate's Garden") (Octavo, green linen covers with embossed gold-leaf 
title and decorations). The book was published, if I remember rightly, 
in 1912. It was a very limited edition, of only about 30 copies, all 
going to his close friends.

"I found one of the remaining copies in a rare book library. I'd first 
heard of the Poem (and book) from a footnote in Legman's Limerick 
volumes (which I'm sure you're familiar with :). There is also 
(supposedly) a microfilm version of "White Stains"...but I was unable 
to access this at the time.

"Besides "With Dog and Dame", the volume contains some 15 other 
poems... each more shocking than the last :) (One of the more 
repellent, I remember, concerned having sex with Christ's wounds 
(reminiscent of Warhol's "Frankenstein"). Crowley, rather than being 
truly "Evil" (as he was wont to claim) was, I think, merely fond of 
shocking the staid and proper Victorians. This he undoubtedly 
accomplished. :) However, I fancy that this volume goes deeper than 
that, as it was never offered for general publication, and was written 
under a pseudonym.

"He was very fond of Danes, and kept them for many years (several 
photos being extant). This poem could be based on Real Life (or at 
least I like to think so :) I will have to do some re-researching on 
which of his wives may have been the woman involved... I assume the 
1898 date is roughly correct for the poem's writing."