I shall remember while the light lives yet, and in the night-time I shall not forget.
What arrests us here is Rossetti's refusal to separate memory into daylight consciousness and nighttime forgetting—she insists the mind holds steady through both. Most people treat memory as something that flickers with our attention, dimming when we're tired or distracted, yet she claims a deeper fidelity that persists even when we're not actively thinking. Consider how this applies to grief: we imagine we honor the dead by constantly remembering them, yet Rossetti suggests something truer—that genuine remembrance isn't exhausting vigilance but a presence so rooted it continues even in our sleep, in our unconscious hours. It's the difference between white-knuckling devotion and the quiet certainty that some loves don't need performance to endure.