''If My Muse Leaves Me, Yet Shall I Love Her''
If my muse leaves me, yet shall I love her
still; and pen songs and odes of fairest rhymes,
telling of heights uncommon and rarest climes
to woo her, for there's none else above her.
Nevertheless, woe am I because of her
great absence! Whilst the very fewest times
my lines mention her more-than-threadbarest crimes
of blowing hot and cold with me, whereof her
callousness leaves me with not a dry eye
to call my own, nor with a heart unbroken:
with this distress I feel I cannot lie,
or let my disappointment go unspoken.
Muse? O Muse! Behold me now and return,
lest my zeal for thee will no longer burn.
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