Apology for Apostasy?

Soft songs, like birds, die in poison air So my song cannot now be candy. Anger rots the oak and elm; roses are rare, Seldom seen through blind despair. And my murmur cannot be heard Above the din and damn. The night is full Of buggers and bastards; no moon or stars Light the sky. And my candy is deferred Till peacetime, when my voice shall be light, Like down, lilting in the air; then shall I Sing of beaches, white in the magic sun, And of moons and maidens at midnight.