My Pen Has Ink Enough

My pen has ink enough, I'm going to start A piece of verse, but suddenly my heart And something in my head jerks in reverse. I can't go on—I did, with switch in tense, And here's the bleak, accusing evidence; I don't know why, or even what I seek. This thought jabbed hard: how insolent to make These blurred attempts when Shakespeare, Donne and Blake Have done what they have done. And yet it tempts, This longing to make wicks of words, light lamps However frail and dim. And, hell, why not? I've had six children yet more casually got.