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Poem	"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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