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One night, when half my life behind me lay,
I wandered from the straight lost path afar.

Through the great dark was no releasing way;
Above that dark was no relieving star.

If yet that terrored night I think or say,
As death's cold hands its fears resuming are.
Dante Alighieri, Inferno, CANTO I

Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn
Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights
unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
John Milton, LAllegro