Ode on Melancholy Perfume Oil

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ODE ON MELANCHOLY No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twistWolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’dBy nightshade, ruby grape of Pros erpine;Make not your rosary of yew-berries,Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth beYour mournful Psyche, nor the downy owlA 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 fallSudden 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 lipsBidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:Ay, in the very temple of DelightVeil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongueCan burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,And be among her cloudy trophies hung. Beauty, joy, pleasure and delight: devastated. This is the scent of the hopelessness, torment and despair of love. Lavender and wisteria, heart-wrenching pale rose, desolate white sandalwood and thin, tear-streaked white musk. Show more