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Golden lads and girls all must,
Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Fear no more the lightning flash,
No exorciser harm thee!
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 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-bemoanéd 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.