The memory of joy is no longer joy; the memory of pain is pain still.

Joy's recollection is no longer joy, while sorrow's memory is sorrow still

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment -- but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?

On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away

Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee.