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John Keats
Ode on Melancholy
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous
wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary
of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche,
nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful
anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of
globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep
upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none
save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy
trophies hung.
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Mey K.
Depressed Song
Oh, pop no sleeping pills nor shape a noose,
Gulp down no lye or strychnine with a rush;
Don't fill a bath and dwell in self-abuse,
Then slit your wrists and watch the water blush.
Know this: Rejecting life when at its dawn
As harsh and hapless, bears no solid gain,
No point here but the
clouding of the ache.
Let Hope give you the courage that was gone;
Slip through the shadows, brave the fearsome pain
And win your sterling
battle - for my sake.
I too repress the madness of my fears,
The dreams of bones and ashes underground;
"Let go," these nightmares whisper in my ears,
"For on your deathbed, sleep shall be
so sound..."
So, as I share these hisses in my head,
Tell me again how much you hate your job
Or driving in the rain,
but realise:
I know of every time you hold off dread,
Or turn the shower on to hide your sobs.
The lips sure can pretend,
but not the eyes.
Don't lie, then, on the open oven's door,
Then breathe the gas, as slowly all will fade;
Don't leap off from a height of twenty floors,
And die, your form so horrid, in the shade...
However, if you feel no Hope shall bring
Redemption, then surrender to the wrath
And frightful torments
of your helpless woe -
Whichever, hell or heaven, is your path,
Just promise me this one and only thing:
Take me along when
you decide to go.
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