Ode on Melancholy Lyrics

No, no, go not to Lethe,
Neither twist wolf's-bane,
Tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed 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.