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 Parsee_
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 cluster!
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
As one who cleaves the circumambient air
Seeking in azure what it lacks in space,
And sees a young and finely chiselled face
Filled with foretastes of wisdom yet more rare;
Touching and yet untouched--unmeasured grace!
A breathing credo and a living prayer--
Yet of the earth, still earthy; debonair
The while in heaven it seeketh for a place.
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