My muses, beloved tortures, gone!
Stolen, or withered away.
With them has wandered my lexicon
Of mem’rable things to say.

How now, sweet demons? You leave behind
Your hatefulest loyal slave.
Please it your graces, how shall she find
The burning that once you gave?

What’s this? You grant me a grievance yet?
Oh, gracious, wonderful, cruel!
Torment me, my choice is set
To live for this poison, your tool.

Face me, Last Muse! O, sorrowful name,
I write thus at your behest!
My final divine inspiration;
The absence of all the rest.