Vontade Away, melancholy, Away with it, let it go. Are not the trees green, The earth as green? Does not the wind blow, Fire leap and the rivers flow? Away melancholy. The ant is busy He carrieth his meat, All things hurry To be eaten or eat. Away, melancholy. Man, too, hurries, Eats, couples, buries, He is an animal also With a hey ho melancholy, Away with it, let it go. (...) Speak not to me of tears, Tyranny, pox, wars, Saying, Can God Stone of man's thoughts, be good? Say rather it is enough That the stuffed Stone of man's good, growing, By man's called God. Away, melancholy, let it go. Man aspires To good, To love Sighs; Beaten, corrupted, dying In his own blood lying Yet heaves up an eye above Cries, Love, love. It is his virtue needs explaining, Not his failing. Away, melancholy, Away with it, let it go. Stevie Smith (1902-1971) --------