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The Computer's Ode to Melancholy

The Computer's Ode to Melancholy

A Poem by Platus

I activated the text-to-speech function on my computer and read into it Keats's "Ode to Melancholy." This experimental piece is the raw result. The original is also pasted below.

No, no!  Go not into leaf, neither twist
enter will Spain,-room feud, 48 squeezing its wine;
nor suffered by hale forehead to B. Keith
buying nightshade, ruby grape of Prosser pine;
make knock your rose three of you berries,
nor let them be told, nor the death month B
you're more and foals side, no live in Downey I will
eight partner in your sorrows mysteries;
four shady to Haiti will come and look for Ensley,
and round of the week full anguish of the soul.

But we knew the melancholy feet shall fall
Sutton in from head and like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the drop Haiti and flowers all,
NIH to Greenhill Ana NE Brule shrouds;
Then collect nice all rule on the morning rose,
On the rainbow of the salt city and wade,
Or on the wealth of Moby and Kearny and;
Or if the industry's some rich anger shoots,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rage,
NBD, D upon Hercules eyes.

She dwells we've been T - BU T that must die;
Enjoy me, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and 18 pleasure in Nye,
Turning two poison while the been no six:
I, in the very temple of the light
The viola pasta feed D melancholy has shown a hearse over and trying,
Those scene of an unsafe him through strenuous com
Ken berst joys great big gains his pilot filings;
His soul shell taste the sadness of her mite,
And be a moan her clad ease trophies Hahn.


"Ode to Melancholy"
John Keats

NO, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist 
  Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; 
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist 
  By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; 
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,         5
  Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be 
    Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl 
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; 
  For shade to shade will come too drowsily, 
    And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.  10
But when the melancholy fit shall fall 
  Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, 
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, 
  And hides the green hill in an April shroud; 
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,  15
  Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, 
    Or on the wealth of globèd peonies; 
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, 
  Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, 
    And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.  20
She dwells with Beauty�"Beauty that must die; 
  And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips 
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, 
  Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: 
Ay, in the very temple of Delight  25
  Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, 
    Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue 
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; 
  His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, 
    And be among her cloudy trophies hung.  30

© 2010 Platus

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Added on May 14, 2010
Last Updated on May 14, 2010