William WORDSWORTH (1770-1850)

Surprized by joy — impatient as the wind —
I turn’d to share the transport — O with whom
But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love recall’d 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.