1. <br />No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist <br />Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; <br />Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed <br />By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; <br />Make not your rosary of yew-berries, <br />Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be <br />Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl <br />A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; <br />For shade to shade will come too drowsily, <br />And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. <br /> <br />2. <br />But when the melancholy fit shall fall <br />Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, <br />That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, <br />And hides the green hill in an April shroud; <br />Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, <br />Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, <br />Or on the wealth of globed peonies; <br />Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, <br />Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, <br />And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. <br /> <br />3. <br />She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die; <br />And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips <br />Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, <br />Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips; <br />Ay, in the very temple of delight <br />Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine, <br />Though seen of none save him whose strenuous <br />tongue <br />Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; <br />His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, <br />And be among her cloudy trophies hung.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-on-melancholy-2/
