Melancholy

Hence, all you vain delights
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly!
There 's naught in this life sweet
If men were wise to see't
But only melancholy—
O sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes
A sight that piercing mortifies
A look that 's fasten'd to the ground
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!
A midnight bell, a parting groan—
Thesе are the sounds we feed upon:
Thеn stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley
Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy