Heres a virtual movie of the poet John Keats reading his lovely "Ode on Melacholy". Please try my Dailymotion video websites where you can see the great poets oldtime acoustic blues performers live and move again in my unique animated virtual movies Poets such as Tennyson and Lewis Carroll and Bluesmen like Robert Johnson and Blind Lemon Jefferson come to life before your very eyes plus you can see amazing acoustic musicians from my unique archive...heres the links Poetry Animations and videos here http://www.dailymotion.com/Poetrylad Blues animations here http://www.dailymotion.com/bluesanimations Jim Clark's video archive of acoustic musicians and poets here http://www.dailymotion.com/vidlad Jim Clark oldest website.. http://groups.msn.com/acousticmusiciansandpoetssoundarchive/_whatsnew.msnw Sherlock holmes fans may enjoy a vist to my Sherlock Holmes etc website here.... http://groups.msn.com/SherlockHolmesETC/_whatsnew.msnw The 'Ode on Melancholy' was written in 1819 and first published a year later. Kind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video sound recording copyright Jim Clark 2008 Ode on Melancholy ... 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. 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. 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 shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

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