'Tis midnight! and pale Melancholy stands Beside me, wearing a funereal wreath Of yew and cypress; the faint dirge of death Moans in her breathing, while her withered hands Fling corse-bedecking rosemary around. She offers nightshade, spreads a winding-sheet, Points to the clinging clay upon her feet, And whispers tidings of the charnel ground. Oh! pray thee, Melancholy, do not bring These bitter emblems with thee; I can bear With all but these, -- 'tis these, oh God! that wring And plunge my heart in maddening despair. Hence, for a while, pale Melancholy, go! And let sweet slumber lull my weeping woe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE ICE-CREAM SANDWICH by KAREN SWENSON HEREDITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH YOUTH AND AGE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE NO BABY IN THE HOUSE by CLARA G. DOLLIVER A CHRISTMAS HYMN by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER GREEK POETESSES by ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA |