My Poem Is The Temple Of The Muse

My poem is the temple of the Muse,

Wherein she dwells in majesty divine;

I am the priest, commissioned to refuse

The curious idler access to the shrine.

Wash clean thine hands, and wast from thee away

All that the body and the soul defies,

Then reverent com, to meditate and pray,

And I'll admit thee to the sacred aisles.