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,
But only melancholy,
But only melancholy,
O sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes,
Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that’s fasten’d to the ground,
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
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!
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;
Nothing’s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;
Nothing’s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
(John Fletcher)
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