Being a person that as suffered from Manic Depressive Disorder for 44 years, I can swear they know little or they know not how to write about the subject. Whichever, as you note I have posted very little in the past few days and wrote nothing. Melancholy is the reasonOde on Melancholy”: John Keats
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.
Melancholy of Jason Kleander, Poet in Kommagini, A.D. 595
The ageing of my body and my beauty
is a wound from a merciless knife.
I’m not resigned to it at all.
I turn to you, Art of Poetry,
because you have a kind of knowledge about drugs:
certain sedatives, in Language and Imagination.
It’s a wound from a merciless knife.
Bring your drugs, Art of Poetry-
they do relieve the pain at least for a while.