That all should change to ghost and glance and gleam,
And so transmuted stand beyond all change,
And we be poised between the unmoving dream
And the sole moving moment – this is strange
Past all contrivance, word, or image, or sound,
Or silence, to express, that we who fall
Through time’s long ruin should weave this phantom ground
And in its ghostly borders gather all.
There incorruptible the child plays still,
The lover waits beside the trysting tree,
The good hour spans its heaven, and the ill,
Rapt in their silent immortality,
As in commemoration of a day
That having been can never pass away.
Taimur Khan 
Às Emily Dickinson wrote. More concisely… Too happy time dissolves itself and leaves no remnant by tis anguish not a feather has not too much weight to fly…. Everything is dependent on chance and the passage of time cancels e very thing…