(Untitled)

[discanted]

Comments

[thejejunejesuit]

Tennyson was nothing but a rhymester.

[discanted]

I speak, then, to an adept of Wordsworth.

[thejejunejesuit]

Byron.

[discanted]

Idealism, sir?

[vampbratprince]

Dwelling in thought, Marius?

[discanted]

We cannot all be men of deed.

[vampbratprince]

The world would end up being dull if we all were.

[discanted]

Never a dull moment with you, Lestat, I assure you.

[unhexed]

That's from In Memoriam. Isn't it?

There's nothing wrong with rambling.

[discanted]

And so it is. Perhaps it is my question, my very truest questions, why I must rely on that poetry which my nature has seen fit to detest altogether.

We find sympathy in even the most loathsome books.

[unhexed]

You seem to know a lot about poetry for someone who doesn't like it.

Tennyson would probably find that proof of a job well done. More of a Rilke girl, myself, though.

[discanted]

I would not injure my Masters, and least of all insult.

And yet do they not say German poetry is cold?

[inurfais]

Old men are boring too, apparently.

[discanted]

So we are. I count on the young to relive me of the habit.

[inurfais]

That requires effort.

[discanted]

You have best wishes of health and strength and confidence.

[amadeodivenezia]

Ramble, Master. I would listen.

[discanted]

Yes. Yes, of course.

But not the Tennyson. Not now, and not again.

[amadeodivenezia]

Choose what moves you. Speak it aloud and I will hear it through the cacophony of this City.

[discanted]

Your pleasure would move me. Or Lestat's violin, perhaps.