The deep ocean is intense indigo.
There is a sleepy feeling that it casts.
In its stillness there is not an echo.
Sky and water are losing their contrasts.
Rhythmic song of water against the ship,
Makes my eyes close. I feel the summer breeze.
I can taste the salt on my lower lip,
While the gentle rocking puts me at ease.
The sails no longer search for any wind,
While seagulls are not to be seen or heard.
The moment appears so undisciplined,
As if not a thing is to be disturbed.
The orange sun now nearly out of sight,
Quietly kisses the ocean good night.
Evening Melancholy, Edvard Munch (1896)
You can feel what’s in my heart when we kiss
You know I watch ’til you blend with the night
You can tell that it is you that I’ll miss
But can you feel my ache when out of sight
It’s my demand to have you night and day
Absurd as it is, it’s the way I feel
For it is not true that you are my prey
But, yes it’s true your heart I wish to steal
So hungry, you have brought me to my knees
A famished want to wake and see you near
To have you in my sight I’ve made my pleas
But it’s mere moments that you can be here
I have been called insane. Yes, it is true.
But the reason why is because of you
Head of a Girl, Ford Madox Brown (n.d.)
Melancholy Love, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
You are as distant as the yellow moon
So tense, fearful that you are apt to swoon
Oh to see what’s going on in your head
Desiring to provide you quick relief
But not sure if you’re hiding sullen grief
Or issue of the longing heart instead
My guess, it must be a question of love
At your age what else to be thinking of
But if love why are you melancholy
Love is meant to bring great joy to the heart
Each lover declaring never to part
If there be no trust there’ll no eternity
La Neige, Charles-François Daubigny (1873)
The snow’s cold whiteness creeps up to my door
While the melancholy sun bids farewell
Mystically crows swarm more than five score
There is an urgent message they must tell
Raising my shovel they will not scatter
With great fear I hold my quivering breath
It’s easy to understand their banter
These darkened creatures sing their song of death
Where summer they’d quietly steal my corn
Autumn barren fields provide easy prey
Not here to repay my gun’s bitter scorn
No they’re just here to say this is my day
Would prefer a single singing angel
Rather than this rowdy crowd of babel