Melancholia picks the marsh's glistening tuv* cotton.  
On melancholia's plantation, a dreamy slave hums a spiritual. 
You ask with a suspicious glance what is growing out there, 
the answer you will get is the one you never want to have: 
wistfulness and melancholia don't wear out from happiness 
nor do they make sorrow any coarser than it already is. 
Melancholia and wistfulness are valuable senses. 

*A kind of plant that grows on the west coast of Sweden’s archipelago