Here you will find thePoemAbstemiaof poet Gelett Burgess
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.
