Halls of the Dark Muse

Lament to the Romantics

I lament that the age
of the Romantics is gone
and those who would carry
on the tradition fade with time

A new day is carried in,
while with it brings
unthought of things,
must the old Chivalry
die to make the way

Does an unknown trail
blazed have to lay away
to ruin the foundation
from which it had sprung

Is there left no respect
no honor, only conceit
and arrogance in revolution,
where would they be
without those who came before
now denounced

I miss the beauty
the passionate soul,
words superior,
mastery unchallenged

Now there may remain
clever wit, hollow images,
empty words, something cold

Perhaps the seedlings
have brought something
to offer, but sometimes
at too great a sacrifice