Augustine was a great poet of grief. Here's a famous passage from the Confessions:
At this grief my heart was utterly darkened; and whatever I beheld was death. My native country was a torment to me, and my father's house a strange unhappiness; and whatever I had shared with him, wanting him, became a distracting torture. Mine eyes soughwhat to ant him every where but he was not granted them; and I hated all places, for that they had not him...I became a great riddle to myself, and I asked my soul, why she was so sad, and why she disquieted me sorely: but she knew not swer me.
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