Friday, September 26, 2008
Several articles on my mind of late, having to do with losing a child.
This exquisite poem touches on what it is to grieve (Wordsworth wrote it after losing a very young child), what a long, slow process it is, full of surprising turns that can induce guilt (and ultimately, of course, healing), but only after a long, exhausting slog.
Surprised by Joy
by William Wordsworth
Surprised by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned 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, 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.
Tricia, at The Miss Rumphius Effect, is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today.