O 'melancholy, your hectic chill for human's soul,
You with your dismal presence, any spirit does ascent;
unto dreams of tranquil, restful,
moist, and sometimes of direful views they went.
Enigmatic woven waves are your curls,
You traverse in each mystery we bent;
where life is few configured amid wild whirls;
Until deaths, mild eyes meet us in an airy haunt.