Ode to melancholy by John Keats

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: GUEST,Jim Clark..London..England
Date: 24 Jan 03 - 09:52 AM

I think this poem makes very clear its own interpretaion of this word..

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: mack/misophist
Date: 24 Jan 03 - 12:37 AM

My definition of melancholy came from a footnote in Milton's Il Penseroso.

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: GUEST,Jim Clark..London..England
Date: 23 Jan 03 - 01:06 AM

I think serious glooms will do.....its what most of us mean by the word..

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: GUEST,Q
Date: 22 Jan 03 - 09:34 PM

For long, sleepless, winter nights, read the "Anatomy of Melancholy," by Robert Burton. Written in the 17th century, it still holds interest.

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: Peter T.
Date: 22 Jan 03 - 09:04 PM

I am not sure which classical poetry you are referring to, but the classical definition of melancholy (melancholus, in fact) is associated with black bile and the serious glooms (for example, in Cicero). yours, Peter T.

Subject: RE: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: mack/misophist
Date: 22 Jan 03 - 08:43 PM

Melancholy has a slightly different meaning in classical poetry. Thoughtful, or even quiet will do.

Subject: Ode to melancholy by John Keats
From: GUEST,Jim Clark..London..England
Date: 22 Jan 03 - 02:32 AM

Melancholy must have been something the tragicaly short lived John Keats must have known from considerable experience....So perhaps it is fitting that he should have written this poem about this facet of the human condition..Heres the link to the page with the sound file..
Ode to melancholy by John Keats 1795 - 1821 (sound poem set to music)



Regards.

Jim Clark
PS..Dont forget you can if you prefer listen to my sound poems at my Yahoo "sound poetry" web group (look in "files") heres that link
Sound poetry Yahoo group


All rights are reserved on this sound recording/copyright/patent Jim Clark 2002

Ode on Melancholy

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.

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.

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