William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Sonnet Xxvii - Poem by William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose 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 myself no quiet find.


Comments about Sonnet Xxvii by William Shakespeare

  • Rookie - 169 Points Brian Jani (4/26/2014 3:41:00 PM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: travel, journey, work, night, sonnet



Poem Submitted: Monday, May 21, 2001

Poem Edited: Monday, May 21, 2001


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