Thanks for complementing my laziness, Rebecca, and actually looking them up:
yes, I remember now: Maude and Mariana, exemplary neurasthenic Victorian
ladies...no wonder I confused them. Interesting how my memory drew out
those weary weary laments, but they're still fairly wearisome.
While I'm rummaging through my dusty attic, I remember also a poem by Adrian
Mitchell (?), The Oxford History of English Poetry or somesuch, in which the
verse on Tennyson goes something like
And then there were about a thousand years of Tennyson.
Funny, really.
We all thought he was a golfer.
Best
A
Alison Croggon
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au
Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com
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