"Surprised by Joy," by William Wordsworth

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, long 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. 

Wordsworth, you poor bastard. 

He feels joy - from what we're not sure - for the first time in a long time and turns to share his joy with his beloved, his life's companion, but she's gone, dead and buried. Still, his automatic response is to share his joy with her, as he had done so many times before. He hasn't forgotten, but he's let go of the sorrow and again sees beauty in the world. And the return of joy brings pain to him.

I first came across this poem in John Anderson's class during my sophomore year at Boston College and still read it now and again.