Verse > Anthologies > Fuess and Stearns, eds. > The Little Book of Society Verse
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Fuess and Stearns, comps.  The Little Book of Society Verse.  1922.
 
Conversation Galante
By T. S. Eliot
 
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.”        5
  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.”        10
  She then: “Does this refer to me?”
  “Oh, no, it is I who am insane.”
 
“You, madam, are the eternal humorist,
The eternal enemy of the absolute,
Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist!        15
With your aid indifferent and imperious
At a stroke our mad poetics to confute—”
  And—“Are we then so serious?”
 
 
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