Glen Martin Fitch
TO THE MUSES: consider yourselves invoked
Oh welcome sisters of the sacred well,
Who married Cadmus, mourned Achilles' soul.
You guard the chest of endless unsung scrolls,
What greater tales have you yet left to tell?
Between your magic horse's rhythmic wings
Each anxious novice begged to hear some word.
You teased dull minds with chanting overheard
To make weak witted Ancients humbly sing.
Now poets talk. Deriding tongues demand.
They lie if they affirm. They plot to teach.
Untempered frenzy, chance alone in hand,
No magic in their words, their poems they preach!
They know you not. Your spirit I'll defend.
Through me, I thank you, this poem you have penned.
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