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 forgone,
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 of thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
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