Sonnet Cxxvii:

A sadder word I never uttered yet-- No, not in chambers when the light was low, And the pale mourners groping to and fro, Waited that end for which the time was set-- Than this last word, so full of all regret, So crammed and burdened with extremest woe, This topmost flood of sorrow's overflow, This word 'farewell,' with which our lips have met. O Dearest, Dearest, if any act of mine Could give the pain that doleful word has cost My broken spirit, as your eyes divine Flashed on my heart the whole of what was lost, I would have lain, feet pointed and palms crossed, In my white shroud, before I made it thine.