Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
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Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
 
J. Fletcher
 
CIV. Melancholy
 
  HENCE, all you vain delights, 
  As short as are the nights 
  Wherein you spend your folly: 
  There's nought in this life sweet 
  If man were wise to see't,         5
  But only melancholy, 
  O sweetest Melancholy! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes, 
A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
A look that's fastened to the ground,  10
A tongue chain'd up without a sound! 
Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves! 
    Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
    Are warmly housed save bats and owls!  15
    A midnight bell, a parting groan! 
    These are the sounds we feed upon; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 
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