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 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.