DESIDERIA

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

      URPRISED by joy -- impatient as the Wind
      I turned 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.

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