William Shakespeare. (№ 397958)

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,
Th'And moan the 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-bemoand 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.




When in the silence, in the silent Duma,
I trigger a memory of days gone
Mourn the passing of the pores happy
Still grieving over the shadows dear, -
When vlazhneyut withered eyes,
And, sadly yearning for friends
Hidden death in the gloomy night,
I raise the appearance of them in tears;
Then, the sadness of past sorrow,
I return them my love
As if my tears are they did not know
And waited to be mourned again...
But just remember the you, my dear,
All the past re-covered grave.