Its true! iam talentless.

Ode on Sad Thoughts

No, no--go not to Lost Thought Stream, nor twist
Wolf's bane, roots tight, for its wine with death tied;
Nor let your pale brow thus be kissed
By night's shade, that red grape of the death god's bride;
Make not your prayer beads of yew-fruit,
Nor let the click bug, nor the death moth, be
Your sad Soul, nor the soft-downed owl
Be mate to your grief's tale still mute;
For shade to shade comes too worn out to see,
And drown the wide-eyed ache of the soul.

But when the fits of sad thoughts fall
Quick from the sky like tears from clouds
That help to grow the droop-head low blooms all
And hide the green hills in a spring-month shroud--
Then glut your grief on a dawn's rose,
Or on the rain's arc of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of blooms like spheres;
Or if your girl some rich rage shows,
Catch hold of her soft hand and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep on her eyes sans peers.

She dwells with Good Looks -- Good Looks that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is all times at his lips
To bid "So long"; and Good Times' ache is nigh,
And turns to death's drink while the bee-mouth sips:
Aye, in the church of Good Cheer, just so,
Veiled Sad Thoughts has her own free shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose hard-worked tongue
Can burst Joy's grape on his mouth's roof fine;
His soul shall taste what's sad in her strength's flow,
And midst her cloud-like wreaths be hung.

-- John Keats