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 woes2 new wail3 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 cancelled woe1，
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight：
Then can I grieve at grievances4 foregone，
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoand 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.
