Melancholy
THE rain and wind, the rain and wind, raved endlessly.On me the Summer storm, and fever, and melancholyWrought magic, so that if I feared the solitudeFar more I feared all company: too sharp, too rude,Had been the wisest or the dearest human voice.What I desired I knew not, but whate'er my choiceVain it must be, I knew. Yet naught did my despairBut sweeten the strange sweetness, while through thewild airAll day long I heard a distant cuckoo callingAnd, soft as dulcimers, sounds of near water falling,And, softer, and remote as if in history,Rumours of what had touched my friends, my foes,or me.
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