"IN middle music of Apollo’s corn She stood, the reaper, challenging a kiss; The lips of her were fresher than the morn, The perfume of her skin was ambergris; The sun had kissed her body into brown; Ripe breasts thrown forward to the summer breeze; Warm tints of red lead fancy to the crown, Her coils of chestnut, in abundant ease, That bound the stately head. What joy of youth Lifted her nostril to respire the wind? What pride of being? What triumphal truth Acclaimed her queen to her imperial mind?"

The Reaper in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

"IN middle music of Apollo’s corn
She stood, the reaper, challenging a kiss;
The lips of her were fresher than the morn,
The perfume of her skin was ambergris;
The sun had kissed her body into brown;
Ripe breasts thrown forward to the summer breeze;
Warm tints of red lead fancy to the crown,
Her coils of chestnut, in abundant ease,
That bound the stately head. What joy of youth
Lifted her nostril to respire the wind?
What pride of being? What triumphal truth
Acclaimed her queen to her imperial mind?” [via]

"Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers Of swart illimitable hair that floats Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers Of your unceasing hours, The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins, The eyes that yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs That cling and cluster to these infinite sins, Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize, And raise diviner sighs; Cling to the white and bloody feet that hang, And drink the purple of a God’s pure side; With your wild hair assuage His deadliest pang, And on His broken bosom still abide His virginal white bride."

The Lesbian Hell in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

"Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats
And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers
Of swart illimitable hair that floats
Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers
Of your unceasing hours,
The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins,
The eyes that yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs
That cling and cluster to these infinite sins,
Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize,
And raise diviner sighs;
Cling to the white and bloody feet that hang,
And drink the purple of a God’s pure side;
With your wild hair assuage His deadliest pang,
And on His broken bosom still abide
His virginal white bride.” [via]

"O wanton breasts that heave deliciously And tempt my eager teeth!"

Mathilde in White Stains by Aleister Crowley.

"O wanton breasts that heave deliciously
And tempt my eager teeth!” [via]