Dismal Muse Poem by Alan Gilbert

I thought I heard a melancholy muse
Murmur sad songs to a weary soul,
When life's uncertain tide was on the ebb
And nothing in the spirit could console

Her doleful strain was hanging in the air
That ice besprinkled dank November day,
Marooned upon that fog enshrouded moor
I listened and my will was sapped away.

'So many loves the world will never know
Ten thousand blossoms perish in the seed,
The tangled weeds and nettles overgrow
With razor thorns that cause the rose to bleed'

Were they benign shadows in the gloom
Distorted sound of creatures in their lair,
Or some scowling spirit sent abroad
To cast such mournful music everywhere.?