| Paroles: | 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. |
