Sing Not, Muse!

Note: This poem underwent substantial revision between the version of last week's meeting and what I present to you here. I hope you find it improved.

Oh Muse! I ask no song of thee
As did ancient bards (who, in effigy,
Prate out pentameter at Westminster)
When of old thy name confessing.

I entreat thee not to guide my pen
In expectance of Olympus' blessing,
Nor even for tradition's sake alone
With little faith.

I tell thee not of Rome or Athens,
Of pantheons with their immortal trappings.
I do not know the Titans;
The Fates are strangers to me.

Nay, sing not, Muse!
Who in epochs past inspired
Poets most dead and laureate.
Chant not from your crumbling, stony places
Of time stood still, of hundreds of frozen faces
Gazing witless from column to column.

Is it not I who sing
Across the ages to thee?