Every once in a while, I stumble across a morose little poem that really tickles my fancy, and being the generous (and desperate for content) soul that I am, I like to pass those Dark Ditties onto you.
This short poem is entitled A Mood by Thomas Bailey (T.B.) Aldrich, and I plucked it from The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics which can be downloaded for free by clicking HERE.
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 tense 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.