Momus


“Where’s the need of singing now?”
Smooth your brow,
Momus, and be reconciled.
For king Kronos is a child
Child and father,
Or god rather,
And all gods are wild.

“Who reads Byron any more?”
Shut the door
Momus, for I feel a draught;
Shut it quick, for some one laughed.
What’s become of
Browning? Some of
Wordsworth lumbers like a raft?

“What are poets to find here?”
Have no fear:
When the stars are shining blue
There will yet be left a few
Themes availing
And these failing,
Momus, there’ll be you.


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Momus