"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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poet hasn't let the fact that poets of the past have come and gone keep him from his passion. He keeps writing and has the hope of influencing others with his words.