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 I can drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death�s dateless night,
And weep afresh love�s long-since cancelle�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
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 restored, and sorrows end.
-SHAKESPEARE
