"Blissfully, sinfully happy," Tycho could not help but agree. He sighed heavily as he caressed Fords shoulders. "Which means the ache and grief are equal in its intensity." And he was a poet. He felt everything a lot more keenly, his soul both somehow flourishing and dying from the torment he was being put through in the most contradictory of ways. At least he was not going to be trapped into a marriage like Ford was. Hell, he was never going to marry. People put too much stock in the institution.
"Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part," he recited from Keats instead. "Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do?" He was omitting lines of the poem and only reciting the relevant ones of the moment. " Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me, and less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea."
"Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part," he recited from Keats instead. "Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do?" He was omitting lines of the poem and only reciting the relevant ones of the moment. " Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me, and less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea."
