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 "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.

by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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