I think you muses ask too great a price
For your hoarded keeps of illumined verse,
Though gain against lost I once thought suffice
Enough that gained for given I'd ne'er curse.
Since its reweight I've looked on with remorse
And hate this gift that let me write the sun,
Despised these eyes that saw the world in yours,
Wished them a prize I had not sought or won.
For gift of words and sight was never worth
This cruel cost exacted of my chest.
I loved you - tried to hold you here on earth,
But sprite you flew and scoured away my breast.
Divine, irreconciled to human part,
You left me poet's hands, but took my heart.