Ode on Melancholy

     by John Keats (1795-1821)

1

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.

2

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.

3

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.

1
 
When you feel depressed, don’t try to escape from your sadness by taking drugs and sleeping potions, or become obsessed with death and nocturnal things. If you do, you’ll only dull the wakeful quality of your soul.

Lethe – the river of forgetfulness in Greek mythology
wolf’s-bane – aconitum, a poisonous plant
Nor suffer thy pale forehead... – Nor let your pale forehead...
nightshade – belladonna, a drug that causes sleep
Proserpine – goddess of the underworld
Psyche – the feminine personification of the human soul, loved by Cupid (Eros)
downy – having fine, soft feathers

2

Instead, when you are suddenly overcome by melancholy, feed your sadness by contemplating something beautiful – a morning rose, a rainbow, a field of flowers, a lover’s angry eyes... 

fit – momentary attack
droop-headed – with heads hanging forward, as if sick or dying
shroud – sheet used to wrap a dead body
glut – satisfy
rave – speak passionately, uncontrollably
peerless – without equal

3

The one you love is a thing of beauty and all beauty must die, just as joy doesn’t last and pleasure turns to poison. In fact, melancholy lies at the very heart of pleasure, invisible except to those who can truly experience joy and its hidden sadness. They are the ones who know its real power, and who will become its ‘trophies’.
 
The capital letters for Beauty, Joy, Pleasure, Delight and Melancholy personify these qualities, as if they were gods or goddesses. And so the goddess Melancholy has a shrine (an altar) in the temple of Delight.
 
dwell – live 
bidding adieu – saying goodbye
nigh – near
sovran – sovereign (regal, all-powerful)
shrine – place designated as sacred
might – power

Keats wrote six great ‘odes’. The others are Ode to a Nightingale, Ode on a Grecian Urn, Ode to Psyche, Ode to Indolence and Ode to Autumn. They are some of the most highly regarded poetic works in the English language. All were written between April and September of 1819.

A year later, very ill with tuberculosis but hoping that a change in climate might do him some good, Keats travelled to Rome and took rooms at No. 26 Piazza di Spagna (on the Spanish Steps). He died there five months later at the age of 25. The rooms he and his friend Arthur Severn occupied are now the Keats-Shelley Museum – check it out the next time you’re there!

The bed where Keats died. His death mask is in the glass case on the right.

Keats’ nameless gravestone in Rome’s Protestant Cemetery.

Magic Bob