Poetry: To Melancholy by Charlotte Smith
by Charlotte Smith
When latest Autumn spreads her evening veil,
And the grey mists from these dim waves arise,
I love to listen to the hollow sighs,
Thro' the half-leafless wood that breathes the gale:
For at such hours the shadowy phantom pale,
Oft seems to fleet before the poet's eyes;
Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies,
As of night-wanderers, who their woes bewail!
Here, by his native stream, at such an hour,
Pity's own Otway I methinks could meet,
And hear his deep sighs swell the sadden'd wind!
O Melancholy!––such thy magic power,
That to the soul these dreams are often sweet,
And soothe the pensive visionary mind!
Listen to my reading of "To Melancholy" below: