Sonnet V

Oh God! With small talent and febrile heart
I turn to You and beg You hear my prayer!
I never will produce poetic art;
This awful fact I can, with courage, bear,
But sorrow and despair still burden me
Because no poets lighten this Dark Age;
They take Your Beauty out of poetry
And I alone am filled with ceaseless rage
When witness to it! Please! Will You do nothing
To stir a greater mind and call him forth?
Your Will be done, but will one men should sing
New songs exalting Beauty and Her worth!
Show unto me this man! Relieve my pain!
That I may hope in Providence again!