Here you will find the Poem Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XIII of poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A heritage for ever. Such a sleep Came upon Adrian and such a dream, As in the shade he lay a weary heap. For, while he rested, still it seemed to him He rode towards the city of his love, Only in mirth not sadness. And, behold, In his soothed bosom Hope, a brooding dove, Had made again her nest, and manifold Fair pleasures round him seemed to perch and sing Like wild birds in the branches overhead, And his heart leaped in joy with everything, As in the days ere yet his joys were dead, Until he found himself, it seemed, in Rome And knocking at the doors of his own home.