Part 8 (1/2)

On a rock-bound reef of Unbelief There sat the wild Negation; Then they sank once more and were washed ash.o.r.e At the Point of Interrogation.

_Oliver Herford_.

ABSTROSOPHY

If echoes from the fitful past Could rise to mental view, Would all their fancied radiance last Or would some odors from the blast, Untouched by Time, accrue?

Is present pain a future bliss, Or is it something worse?

For instance, take a case like this: Is fancied kick a real kiss, Or rather the reverse?

Is plenitude of pa.s.sion palled By poverty of scorn?

Does Fiction mend where Fact has mauled?

Has Death its wisest victims called When idiots are born?

_Gelett Burgess_.

ABSTEMIA

_In Mystic_ Argot _often Confounded with Farrago_

If aught that stumbles in my speech Or stutters in my pen, Or, claiming tribute, each to each, Rise, not to fall again, Let something lowlier far, for me, Through evanescent shades-- Than which my spirit might not be Nourished in fitful ecstasy Not less to know but more to see Where that great Bliss pervades.

_Gelett Burgess_.

PSYCHOLOPHON

_Supposed to be Translated from the Old Pa.r.s.ee_

Twine then the rays Round her soft Theban tissues!

All will be as She says, When that dead past reissues.

Matters not what nor where, Hark, to the moon's dim cl.u.s.ter!

How was her heavy hair Lithe as a feather duster!

Matters not when nor whence; Flittertigibbet!

Sounds make the song, not sense, Thus I inhibit!

_Gelett Burgess_.

TIMON OF ARCHIMEDES