home | authors | books | about

Home -> William Shakespeare -> 27

27

Sonnets

1

10

100

101

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

11

110

111

112

113

114

115

116

117

118

119

12

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

127

128

129

13

130

131

132

133

134

135

136

137

138

139

14

140

141

142

143

144

144

145

146

147

148

149

15

150

151

152

153

154

16

17

18

19

2

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

3

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

4

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

5

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

6

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

7

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

8

80

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

88

89

9

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99







XXVII

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd;
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 myself, no quiet find.





© Art Branch Inc. | English Dictionary