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 cancelled woe，

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight：

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone，

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The sad account of fore-bemoanèd 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.