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?