Book 4 — CCXLIV DESIDERIA
Reading edition
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.
W. Wordsworth