William Shakespeare
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 heart
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 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 on thee, dear friend,
All loses are restored and sorrows end.
