The Icicles of Isis

It hath been written how the Old King dreamed of his banished peacock, entombed in a palace of ice, who cried: “The Icicles of Isis are falling on my head.”

Thus it is with those who are banished to the Palace of the Moon – for the Word of Sin is Restriction.

Oh! Lady of the Starry Heavens, let me not become frozen at the touch of the cold Veil of Isis. For the Moon is but the dead reflector of the Sun, and He but the youngest of Thy Children of Light.

Let me lift Thy Peacock Veil of a Million Starry Eyes, O Beloved!
Show Thy Star Splendour, O Nuit; bid me within Thine house to dwell!

From: Hymns to the Star Goddess