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