Ephemeral and vain, in this age
Poetry is woven of agile thought.
Marquise.
What of the sort that weeps and yearns most woe-begone?
Poignancy that is the ending of a poem?
Poet.
All that
Is reached with the noble aid of a consonant
As great love is reached with a kiss.
Marquise.
And what of the void in which my soul is lost
Since no one, poet ... no one cries his need for me....
Poet.
Do not say that, marquise. I can assure you....
Marquise.