Author Emily Dickinson Who never wanted, ā maddest joy Remains to him unknown; The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine. Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire's perfect goal, No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments