Томас Бейли Олдрич (Thomas Bailey Aldrich) Текст оригинала на английском языке A Mood 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 insistence; A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone exsistence; A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken— Such hurt perchance as Nature feels wen a blossomed bough is broken. |
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