| | Sonnet 27 |
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Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, |
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The dear repose for limbs with travail tired; |
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But then begins a journey in my head |
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To work my mind, when body's work's expired. |
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For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, |
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Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, |
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And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, |
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Looking on darkness which the blind do see. |
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Save that my soul's imaginary sight |
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Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, |
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Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, |
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Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. |
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Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, |
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For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. |
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| Sonnet 27 |
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Weary from work, I hasten to my bed, the sweet place of rest for a body tired out from laboring. But then I start to go on a journey in my head, making my mind work after my body's work is finished. Because when I go to bed, my thoughts begin the trip from where I am, far away from you, to where you are. They keep my weary eyes wide open, staring at the darkness like blind people do. Except, in my imagination, I see your image, though it's too dark to see anything else. Like a shining jewel hanging in the terrifying night, your image makes that old, black night look beautiful and young. See, because of you, my body does not rest in the daytime and my mind finds no peace at night. |
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