'Melancholia' would still appear to be a far more apt and evocative word for the blacker forms of the disorder, but it was usurped by a noun with a bland tonality and lacking any magisterial presence, used indifferently to describe an economic decline or a rut in the ground, a true wimp of a word for such a major illness.
My cold hands need yours.
They cannot warm themselves up,
frozen without you.
There is nothing worse than people taking control of your narrative.
The knowledge both of the poet and the man of science is pleasure; but the knowledge of the one cleaves to us as a necessary part of our existence, our natural and unalienable inheritance; the other is personal and individual acquisition, slow to come to us, and by no habitual and direct sympathy connecting us with our fellow-beings.