Page:Songs of Russia.djvu/59

 A mist has settled over all the past,
 * Enwrapping it forever in its shroud;

And it has thickened to a winding-sheet,
 * And hangs above me like a boding cloud.

That leaden cloud depresses heavily;
 * It chills the brain, with long confinement worn,

And pierces deep my soul with poison hot
 * Of black and heavy thoughts, in prison born.