Sonnet XXX, by
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 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-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if while I think on thee,
dear friend,
All losses are restored, and
sorrows end.
<-- index -->