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More poems by John FletcherJohn Fletcher | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by John FletcherBooks by John Fletcher

Hence, All You Vain Delights from the Nice Valour

John Fletcher

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy,
O sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound;
Fountain-heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves;
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls;
A midnight bell, a parting groan:
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley,
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 21 Apr 2018 5:55 AM | Viewed: 4405 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7247/ | Viewed on 21 April 2018.
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