I wake to the dawn
Liquid beauty thus and from
That great orb o' lorn
Duty bound and forlorn.
To hail she , that beauty born
Oh Gaea ! Chastity of pure light
Beauty bites upon your womb,
And burns out blight
Oh , oh perfect antiquarium,
Oh!hail she , whose wrath is divinest sense
Gaea, Against all odds still remains
YOU ARE READING
Song Of The Muses.
PoetryErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
