The Temple of the Muses
The temple of the Muses stands forsaken.
The souls who filled its vast and sumptuous halls
Are scattered thin or by Time’s sickle taken,
For few remain who answer to their calls.
These walls were built by men of ages past.
Their taste and sense of beauty were admired,
Their rhyme and talent truly unsurpassed;
From those today much more should be desired.
Unworthy figures who now hold the seats
Of those who gave the centuries their glory
Ramble around to spread their cheap deceits
While bookshelves fill with dull, plebeian stories.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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