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06-03-2009, 02:10 AM
Sonnet #27

XXVII.br /br /Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,br /The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;br /But then begins a journey in my head,br /To work my mind, when body's work's expired:br /For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,br /Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,br /And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,br /Looking on darkness which the blind do seebr /Save that my soul's imaginary sightbr /Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,br /Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,br /Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.br /Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,br /For thee and for myself no quiet find.

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