Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/188

 Of Fashioun's sicklie birth; Adieu! al boysterous mirthe, Al pageant, pompe, and state, And every flauntynge thing To which the would-be-great Of earth in madness cling.

Come with me, Melancholye, We'll live like eremites holie, In some deepe uncouthe wild Where sunbeame never smylde: Come 'with me, pale of hue, To some lone silent spot, Where blossom never grewe, Which man hath quite forgot.

Come with thy thought-filled eye, That notes no passer by, And drouping solemne head, Where phansyes strange are bred, And saddening thoughts doe brood, Which idly strive to borrow A smyle to vaile thy moode Of heart-abyding sorrow.