Mundi et Cordis De Rebus Sempiternis et Temporariis: Carmina. Poems and Sonnets. By Thomas Wade |
 |
 |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | IV.
A HYMN TO MELANCHOLY. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
|
 | Mundi et Cordis |  |
191
IV. A HYMN TO MELANCHOLY.
On the soft rose of her most vernal cheekMy warm lips take their banquet tremblingly:
She is not angry—no; nor doth she speak;
But her soul argues from her rich-ray'd eye,
By of bright tears a starry embassy,
That herald solace—Ah! my Spirit's Woe!
Thy moody fit hath prompted, in an hour,
More than had ever issued from the flow
Of Joy, vine-crown'd with all rejoicing power.
Oh! then I bless thee, god-born Melancholy!
And thou art wisdom, though fools call thee folly:
The brief duration of my lone life's dower
Fleets to extinction; but, heart-led by thee,
I've raised a flower to scent Eternity.
| Mundi et Cordis | |