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Poem by Thomas Stearns Eliot


Conversation Galante


I observe: "Our sentimental friend the moon!
Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)
It may be Prester John's balloon
Or an old battered lantern hung aloft
To light poor travellers to their distress."
  She then: "How you digress!"

And I then: "Some one frames upon the keys
That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain
The night and moonshine; music which we seize
To body forth our vacuity."
  She then: "Does this refer to me?"
  "Oh no, it is I who am inane."

"You, madam, are the eternal humorist,
The eternal enemy of the absolute,
Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist!
With your air indifferent and imperious
At a stroke our mad poetics to confute"
  And"Are we then so serious?"



Thomas Stearns Eliot


Thomas Stearns Eliot's other poems:
  1. Lines to a Yorkshire Terrier
  2. Lines to a Persian Cat
  3. Gerontion
  4. The Hippopotamus
  5. Cousin Nancy


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