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 th' 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.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 102: My Love Is Strengthened, Though More Weak In Seeming
- Sonnet 128: How Oft, When Thou, My Music, Music Play'st
- Sonnet 145: Those Lips That Love's Own Hand Did Make
- Sonnet 20: A Woman's Face With Nature's Own Hand Painted
- To Be, Or Not To Be (Hamlet, Act Iii, Scene I)