Thursday, April 7, 2011

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travail 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.

-William Shakespear

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