After a trip to the library yesterday I came home with Shakespeare's Sonnets. I've never really read any of them, and I'm curious to see what all the hype is about. They're supposedly these great passionate writings. I really just wanted to see and know for myself. After a brief look through last night, I read one that holds truth in it and wanted to post it here.
27
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.
