Sonnet 30

When in these sessions of gratifying silent thought

I think of the past,

I lament my failure to achieve all that I wanted,

And I sorrowfully remember that I wasted the best years of my life:

Then I can cry, although I am not used to crying,

For dear friends now hid in death’s unending night,

And cry again over woes that were long since healed,

And lament the loss of many things that I have seen and loved:

Then can I grieve over past grief’s again,

And sadly recount my woes

The sorrowful account of grief’s already grieved for,

Which I repay as if I had not paid before.

But if I think of you while I am in this state of sadness, dear friend,

All my losses are compensated for and my sorrow ends.

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