And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say? The very source and fount of Day Is dash'd with wandering isles of night.
If all was good and fair we met, This earth had been the Paradise It never look'd to human eyes Since our first Sun arose and set.
And is it that the haze of grief Makes former gladness loom so great? The lowness of the present state, That sets the past in this relief?
Or that the past will always win A glory from its being far; And orb into the perfect star We saw not, when we moved therein?
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto XXIV