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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421002" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode on Melancholy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421002" data-title="Ode on Melancholy de John Keats" data-description="No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist 
 Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; 
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed 
 By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; 
Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 
 Nor let the beetle nor the de..."></div>
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