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Recorded Reading (1:10): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/1ywts9limuasdk37c0gul/In-Melancholy-Made.mp3?rlkey=7zpf3u8ypnd9iq4ilntxcg0z5&st=dcaf47y0&dl=0

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In Melancholy Made

A poet is in melancholy made
In hopeless silence, with each bitter tear
Nay, little doth one ken the price that’s paid
For priceless words inheritors shall hear

Remember when ye hearest it confesst
And judge ye not its truth too swift to know
We took the groaning world unto our breast
That in that breast its suffering might grow

Until we, overwhelmed by its sad truth
Are ready among fellow men to go
And bare our inmost souls to say our sooth
Reminding Fortune’s child of others’ woe

Thus serving humankind’s most ancient need
By sowing sweet compassion’s sacred seed

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The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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