Гелетт Берджесс (Gelett Burgess)

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 passion palled
    By poverty of scorn?
Does Fiction mend where Fact has mauled?
Has Death its wisest victims called
    When idiots are born?

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