Hence, hence, all you vaine delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
Ther's nought in this life sweete,
If men were wise to see'te
But only Melancholly:
O sweetest Melancholly!
Welcome folded armes and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A looke that's fastned to the ground,
A tongue chayned upp without a sound.
Fountains heads, and pathlesse groves,
Places which pale Passion loves:
Moonlike wakes, when all the Fowles
Are warmly housde, save Batts and Owles:
A midnight knell: a parting groane:
These are the sounds wee feede upon.
Then, stretch your bones in a still gloomy vally,
Ther's nothing daynty, sweete, save Melancholly.
Melancholly
William Strode
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Poem topics: life, passion, tongue, wise, short, sound, gloomy, save, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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