Apologies for Lack of Form will be Forthcoming

I am only as old as the Netherlands,
Fit only for Muspelheim's army.
I am only so bold as the golestan,
Frayed rose-petals greying and tawdry.
Ascend, and draw near, in the absence of cheer,
Have we ever seen battles so tragic?
It is neither the rain nor the absence of pain
Which causes the rats and the traffic.

And did your agate eyes form newly
The bright and belligerent knell?
How could we convene in this hell
As faint colours arrested me truly?
And never did Orpheus play quite so well,
Nor his lyre so gravely attest
This depravity grim, molestation so trim,
He has given us beauty, at best.

But ghostly, then, I scattered flowers
Down upon the scarrèd street,
Then waited I for those small hours,
When Mercurius flies his most fleet.
And upon this side of the grave
Did I think myself, rightly, a knave--
I did tumble my mind till it was bone-dry
And the airs I assumed, rather brave.
The End

My God, what manner of nonsense is this?
I am so, so sorry.
It was all extempore.
I have no excuse for it. Though the first two lines are sodding fantastic.