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.