Who is this who howls and mutters?
It is the Muse, each word she utters
Is thrown against a shuttered door
And very soon she’ll speak no more.

Cry louder, Muse, make much more noise
The world is full of rattling toys
I thought she’d say, Why should I then?
I have spoke low to better men
But oh she did not speak at all but went away
And now I search for her by night and day.

Night and day I seek my Muse
Seek the one I did abuse
She had so sweet a face, so sweet a voice
But oh she did not make sufficient noise.

False plea. I did not listen then
That listen now and listen now in vain.
And still the tale of talent murdered
Untimely and untimely buried
Works in my soul. Forgive me, Lord, I cry
Who only makest Muses howl and sigh
Then, Lord, repent and give her back to me
Weeping uncomforted, Lord have pity.

He did repent. I have her now again
Howling much worse, and oh the door is open.

—

Stevie Smith (1902-1971)

Stevie Smith, Collected Poems; New Directions, New York; ISBN 0811208826
Stevie Smith, Selected Poems; Penguin Books, Harmondsworth; ISBN 0141186550