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 broken 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', where ever you lurk there we go
to the open grave where we quit and just die!
But, like Lazarus, we rise in the morn
with hope and renewed life and strength to cope;
like his Resurrection, we are reborn:
O Doom! Where are you now that we have hope!?
O Melancholy! Take heed and beware,
for the grave of death that's your threat dies there!
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."