Sonnet XXVII
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Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, | 1
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; | 2
But then begins a journey in my head, | 3
To work my mind, when body's work's expired: | 4
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, | 5
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, | 6
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, | 7
Looking on darkness which the blind do see | 8
Save that my soul's imaginary sight | 9
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, | 10
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, | 11
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. | 12
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, | 13
For thee and for myself no quiet find. | 14
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