To Melancholy

John Kendrick Bangs

 Melancholy,
  Melancholy,
  I’ve no use for you, by Golly!
  Yet I’m going to keep you hidden
  In some chamber dark, forbidden,
  Just as though you were a prize, sir,
  Made of gold, and I a miser—
  Not because I think you jolly,
          Melancholy!
  Not for that I mean to hoard you,
  Keep you close and lodge and board you
  As I would my sisters, brothers,
  Cousins, aunts, and old grandmothers,
  But that you shan’t bother others
  With your sniffling, snuffling folly,
          Howling,
          Yowling,
  Melancholy.