The Pickwick Papers (Charles Dickens)

In her death she winged her way back to her calm untroubled youth, and cancelled all the rest.

There was a beggar in the street, when I went down; and as I turned my head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me start by muttering, as if he were an echo of the morning: ‘Blind! Blind! Blind!’