From Lord Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Third:

They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn;

The tree will whither long before it fall;

The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;

The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall

In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall

Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;

The bars survive the captive they enthral;

The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun;

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

Some days you just feel... well, not so hot.
If there is only one thing you ever learn about life, let it be that it goes on. The sunset was beautiful today, and according to Kali, very typically Southern, i.e. atypically Boston.

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.