Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind- But how could I forget thee?-Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss!-That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

— William Wordsworth

Poet