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 the while I think on thee, dear friend,
	  All losses are restored and sorrows end. 

				        - W. Shakespeare