And I listened to Brigg Fair.

But, having been filled with pure emotion, an essential, I waned and went early to bed.

[...] I listened to Brigg Fair: the first hearing since, another cuckoo.  It did not need to come back, it is as fresh as ever, that morning when I came back from walking on the drove, & stood at the gate of Miss Green hearing her playing it, sharing her listening unbeknown, and realising the intensity of what she was to me.  It was as fresh as ever, fresher than my sense of loss.  My emotion was so pure that it was like a pure alcohol: not a trance for it did not remove me; not a heightening for there was no acceptance on my part; I was inside acceptance.

'There I stood, leaning against you, listening -

I have never been away' is the nearest I can come to it. It still encloses me.