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T. S. 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 aid indifferent and imperious

At a stroke our mad poetics to confute–”

And–„Are we then so serious?”

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Wiersz T. S. Eliot – Conversation Galante - Eliot Thomas Stearns