o corpo estremece de saudade

     

                                        You did not come,

                                And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb,—

                                Yet less for loss of your dear presence there

                                Than that I thus found lacking in your make

                                That high compassion which can overbear

                                Reluctance for pure lovingkindness’ sake

                                Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,

                                        You did not come.

                                Thomas Hardy