<h2><SPAN name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"></SPAN> Conversation Galante </h2>
<p>I observe: “Our sentimental friend the moon<br/>
Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)<br/>
It may be Prester John’s balloon<br/>
Or an old battered lantern hung aloft<br/>
To light poor travellers to their distress.”<br/>
She then: “How you digress!”<br/>
<br/>
And I then: “Some one frames upon the keys<br/>
That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain<br/>
The night and moonshine; music which we seize<br/>
To body forth our own vacuity.”<br/>
She then: “Does this refer to me?”<br/>
“Oh no, it is I who am inane.”<br/>
<br/>
“You, madam, are the eternal humorist<br/>
The eternal enemy of the absolute,<br/>
Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist<br/>
With your air indifferent and imperious<br/>
At a stroke our mad poetics to confute—”<br/>
And—“Are we then so serious?”<br/></p>
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