When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
     I summon up remembrance of things past,
     I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
     And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
     Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
     For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
     And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
     And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
     Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
     And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
     The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
     Which I new pay as if not paid before.
     But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
     All losses are restored and sorrows end.