Though She Leaves, My Muse Still Holds My Heart
Should my muse depart from me, I'd love her
still; and pen songs and odes of dulcet rhymes,
singing of love uncommon, and warmest climes
with hearts afire, for there's none above her.
But she feels great sadness; for she needs more time
to be free of me: for my sinful heart
has erred, and so despised her inspired art:
disdained, she can no more for me sing sublime.
So my betrayal has made her feel unloved
by me; I beg her forgiveness to no
avail: silent, she turns away; to go
to her and confess my sin leaves her unmoved.
Muse? O Muse! Forgive my sin and return,
so your love for me will not cease to burn?
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