| 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 times’ waste: | |
| Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow, | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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 restor’d and sorrows end. |