Musophobist

This evening I read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner aloud to the jellyfish while Bubo dropped bits of brine shrimp into their tank. It lent a marvelous air to the usual feeding ritual, and while Bubo prefers T.S. Eliot, I was in the mood for some Coleridge. We are great lovers of poetry, Bubo and I, therefore we are not musophobists.

Musophobist is a noun meaning a person who dislikes or mistrusts poetry.

A.C. Swinburne wrote in 1880 “But, be it said with leave of our most illustrious Musophobist, they are equalled at their best if not excelled [etc.].”

Odd, isn’t it, that there should still be musophobists scampering about? I can’t imagine mistrusting poetry. Now, mistrusting a musophobist, that I can understand. Perhaps I can find that word in one my old dictionaries.

Unless you know the word for that. I’m sure you do. You’re rather clever.

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