A BLIGHT, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness -- Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness; A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's in-sistence; A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone existence; A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken -- Such hurt perchance as Nature feels when a blossomed bough is broken. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER by JOHN GODFREY SAXE CHORUS OF A SONG THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM NAMES OF ROMANCE by BERTON BRALEY AT THE FARRAGUT STATUE by ROBERT BRIDGES (1858-1941) THE WANDERER: 4. IN SWITZERLAND: THE HEART AND NATURE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS by GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER |