Poetic genius eludes me
and flees from me like love,
as if my lady already
flew off like a wayward dove.
I fear my talent's further gone,
so far removed from here
like a nervous, capricious fawn
too coy to stay for fear.
For my misfortune is such grief
too profound, too deep, to tell;
I pray to God that it'll be brief
before I hear death's knell.
For now my spirit will endure
for my Genius's return
so again with love's warming cure
I'll know its peculiar burn.