When dark, depressing moods consume the joys
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of living, we shrink from the world of men
and act like children with their gloomy toys;
we recall a time when this has not been!
O Melancholy! how you daunt us so!
Why are we the doomed apples of your eye!?
Too oft', wherever you lurk there we go
to Death's tomb where we then succumb and die!
But, like Lazarus, we rise in the morn
with renewed life and joy and faith to cope;
like his Resurrection, we are reborn:
O Woe! Where are you now that we have hope!?
O Melancholy! Take heed and beware,
for the tomb's despair which you spawn dies there!
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."