Where art thou, muse, that thou forget’st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Oh inspiration never leave me, and if you do, let that be a kind of inspiration in itself. For you have no idea the power that you hold over me. Writing is not a choice, it is a need, an insatiable craving for creation.
Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
If, for good reason I’m sure, you do leave me for a time, come back to me sweet inspiration and doubly make up for all the time lost.
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Tell me all your stories, and let me write them in a way that is undeniably inspired.
Rise, resty muse, my love’s sweet face survey,
I love you. I know no other way to live, can’t you see I will never betray you?
If time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay
And make time’s spoils despised everywhere.
My body may decay, my mind may become forgetful, but I will never let time take my love for you.
Give my love fame faster than time wastes life;
So thou prevent’st his scythe and crooked knife.
I want my love for you to be known across the world, and not because I died a tragic death before people got to read my written thoughts, but because my love for you produces a truth that rings loudly in the hearts of readers. If I could remain in the hearts of people beyond the span of my life, then my debt to you would be immeasurable. I only hope that my words can do our love justice, oh sweet muse, dear inspiration, I love you. Never leave me.