Blank Verse

When one of inspiration is shorn And every poetic thought stillborn When every glimmer of light disappears And every proud conceit ends in tears Should I to my unheeding Muses turn And offer holocausts for them to spurn? Would Melpomene listen,Thalia heed And grant help in my hour of need? Why do they cast me so cruelly aside In my own grim Hades to abide? Prayers do I offer for this barren time Wherein the empty page is branded crime.