[Avery (26) and the narroator (female, 18) are hiking back down a mountain after sunset, with stops for breath-catching and poem-reciting.:]
I sat very still, letting the poem wash over me: the beautiful sounds and images, Avery's voice softening on 'my dearest, thou', the half promising, half menacing sound of 'be lost in me.' Avery fidgeted audibly. "It's Tennyson." he said. "The second half of a poem from *The Princess*."
"I didn't know that one. All I read of Tennyson's was *Idy...
Published on November 22, 2009 07:20