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 restor‘d and sorrows end.

When I summon up memories of the past, I can’t help but lament the things I sought but never found. I find myself grieving for dear friends hidden in the endless night of death, shedding tears for the love that was lost long ago, and lamenting the passing of many cherished moments. I mourn old grievances and recount past sorrows, paying the emotional toll over and over again. However, when I think of you, dear friend, all my losses are restored, and my sorrows come to an end.