- 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.