Alas, Sweet Muse, How I Desire, and Burn

Alas, sweet Muse! How I desire, and burn, to sing a joyous hymn no less, no worse, than the most happy hymns in all of verse! How I as well so oft' long for, and yearn, to be inspired, have breath once more return, so that my lines' too-early ride by hearse no longer endures rhyme's creative curse: so I may strive, write, and still live in turn! Despite the pain, the everlasting grief, I will set my sights on the rhymer's prize. If rare reprieve, or wit that's much too brief, arrives, then howls of laughter dry my eyes, as the grace of God, and of all that's chief, provides me all I need, that I might rise!