Desideria
William Wordsworth, 1807

Surprized by joy--impatient as the wind--
     I turn'd to share the transport--Oh, 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.