43. Ode on Melancholy.

1.

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.

2.

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.

3.

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 shall taste the sadness of her might,
    And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

44. La Belle Dame sans Merci.

1.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither’d from the lake,
  And no birds sing.

2.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel’s granary is full,
  And the harvest’s done.

3.

I see a lily on thy brow,
  With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
  Fast withereth too.

4.

I met a lady in the meads
  Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
  And her eyes were wild.

5.

I set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
  A faery’s song.

6.

I made a garland for her head,
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
  And made sweet moan.

7.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
  And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
  I love thee true.

8.

She took me to her elfin grot,
  And there she gaz’d and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—­
  So kiss’d to sleep.

9.

And there we slumber’d on the moss,
  And there I dream’d, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream’d
  On the cold hill-side.