looking at an older entry from two years ago, where i had quoted from one of boris pasternak's early poems:

I also loved, and she is living still.
Cascading into that first earliness, as ever
Time stands still, vanishing away as it spills
Over the moment's edge. Subtle as ever this boundary.
Still as before, how recent seems the long ago.
Time past streams from the faces of those who saw,
Playing still its crazy tricks, as if it did not know
It has no tenancy in our house any more.
Can it be so? Does love really not last,
This momentary tribute of bright wonderment,
But ever, all our life, recede into the past?

which i then said might be thought about, and increasingly do think about, as representing quite the opposite of d.g. rossetti's cyclical time that may restore our lives and loves and bring us one delight once more. and how this is a little closer to how i feel, now.