Oh dear muse!
my zeal for you is so profuse,
Oh muse! I feel so unused,
Debarred of that lingering gaze,
Debarred of my flesh awake or an avid grin,
Perpetually behoved to stay ashen,
No yearner in sight,
All have left to write in your praise,
Their heart besotted their mind in haze,
For your beauty plummets their craze,
What of my sullen face?,
How ever shall this daunting envy replace?,
To be whispered and not sighed,
To lay in arms while I cried,
For my imperfection to be a myth,
To have not fears within sit,
To not be a thorn while they search for their rose,
I have envy and I am afraid it shows.