Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expirèd.
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.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Related quotes
Sonnet 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.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet 31: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts
Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposèd dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought burièd.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone.
Their images I loved, I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 43: When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form, form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessèd made,
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Dear Night
Dear Night,
Again me, paper and a pen
Draw the air of my soul that still flying
Dear Night,
Again me, ipod and Foo Fighters
Sing aloud 'Walking After You'
Dear Night,
Again me, sky and the wind
Paint his face among the stars
Dear Night,
Again me, feelings and thoughts
Try to find the answer who does he love
Dear Night,
Again me, vision and smell
Read his mind underneath the pain
Dear Night,
Again me, loneliness and emptiness
Beyond of his sight and sensitiveness
Dear Night,
Again me, him and us
Around uncertainty situation of impossible LOVE
poem by Ade Renny Dwi Damayanti
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The Promise of Sleep
Put the sweet thoughts from out thy mind,
The dreams from out thy breast;
No joy for thee--but thou shalt find
Thy rest
All day I could not work for woe,
I could not work nor rest;
The trouble drove me to and fro,
Like a leaf on the storm's breast.
Night came and saw my sorrow cease;
Sleep in the chamber stole;
Peace crept about my limbs, and peace
Fell on my stormy soul.
And now I think of only this,--
How I again may woo
The gentle sleep-- who promises
That death is gentle too.
Sun of My Soul
Sun of my soul, Thou Savior dear,
It is not night if Thou be near;
O may no earthborn cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
Forever on my Savior’s breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
If some poor wandering child of Thine
Has spurned today the voice Divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick, enrich the poor
With blessings from Thy boundless store;
Be every mourner’s sleep tonight,
Like infants’ slumbers, pure and right.
Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take,
Till in the ocean of Thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
poem by John Keble
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In The Night Time's Darkness
In the night time's darkness
my eyelids will not close.
Is this how they shall find me
in death's unfriendly pose?
Is it not better to leave this life
with eyelids closed up tight?
For then and only then, my love
will you be gone from my sight.
In the night time's darkness
my eyes stare into space.
Is this how they shall find me
with blankness on my face?
Is it not better they find me
with a smile left behind?
For then and only then, my love
will they know you were on my mind.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Death. A Dialogue
Soul.
'TIS a sad Land, that in one day
Hath dull'd thee thus ; when death shall freeze
Thy blood to ice, and thou must stay
Tenant for years, and centuries ;
How wilt thou brook't ?
Body.
I cannot tell ;
But if all sense wings not with thee,
And something still be left the dead,
I'll wish my curtains off, to free
Me from so dark and sad a bed :
A nest of nights, a gloomy sphere,
Where shadows thicken, and the cloud
Sits on the sun's brow all the year,
And nothing moves without a shroud.
Soul.
'Tis so : but as thou saw'st that night
We travail'd in, our first attempts
Were dull and blind, but custom straight
Our fears and falls brought to contempt :
Then, when the ghastly twelve was past,
We breath'd still for a blushing East,
And bade the lazy sun make haste,
And on sure hopes, though long, did feast.
But when we saw the clouds to crack,
And in those crannies light appear'd,
We thought the day then was not slack,
And pleas'd ourselves with what we fear'd.
Just so it is in death. But thou
Shalt in thy mother's bosom sleep,
Whilst I each minute groan to know
How near Redemption creeps.
Then shall wee meet to mix again, and met,
'Tis last good-night ; our Sun shall never set.
JOB, CAP. IO. VER. 21, 22.
Before I go whence I shall not return, even to the
land of darkness, and the shadow of death ;
A Land of darkness, as darkness itself, and of the
shadow of death, without any order, and where the
light is as darkness.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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So Much To Do
The face of the world is a homely face,
And the look of the world unkind,
When harsh on your arm a hand it lays
And bids you into the grind,
That 's little to your mind, my dear,
That 's little to your mind.
But it 's work that counts in the world, you see;
Not what we dream, but do:
For the dreamer of dreams, whatever he be,
If he 'd have his dreams come true,
Must be a workman, too, my dear,
Must be a workman, too.
So much to do; so much to know;
So much that life would shirk!
But each is one of a hive below,
The world's great Hive of Irk,
Where each must do his work, my dear,
Each one must do his work.
A song, a look, a word of cheer,
Will help more than a sigh!
For this is the law of the hive, my dear,
That every bee must try, my dear,
And all the drones must die, my dear,
That all the drones must die.
Oft-times it seems that the end is far,
And the work we do, in vain;
That night will never reveal a star,
And day bring only rain,
To trouble our hearts again, my dear,
To trouble our hearts again.
But ever the stars are shining there
With ever the old regard;
And be it foul, or be it fair,
However long debarred,
All work has its reward, my dear,
All work has its reward.
Could summer come without the rose?
Or morn without the sun?
And thus shall toil bring soul's repose
To each and every one,
Whose work at last is done, my dear,
Whose work at last is done.
For the face of the world is a homely face,
But the look in its eyes is kind
To him who sets his heart's brisk pace
To the work he has in mind,
And turns not with the wind, my dear,
And turns not with the wind.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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To Mary
I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou art not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.
Thy eyes are gazing upon mine,
When thou art out of sight;
My lips are always touching thine,
At morning, noon, and night.
I think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest:
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's breast.
I hide it from the world's wide eye,
And think and speak contrary;
But soft the wind comes from the sky,
And whispers tales of Mary.
The night wind whispers in my ear,
The moons shines in my face;
A burden still of chilling fear
I find in every place.
The breeze is whispering in the bush,
And the dews fall from the tree,
All sighing on, and will not hush,
Some pleasant tales of thee.
poem by John Clare
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Darkness Of...
Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...
poem by Suniya Garg
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Hermaphroditus
I.
LIFT UP thy lips, turn round, look back for love,
Blind love that comes by night and casts out rest;
Of all things tired thy lips look weariest,
Save the long smile that they are wearied of.
Ah sweet, albeit no love be sweet enough,
Choose of two loves and cleave unto the best;
Two loves at either blossom of thy breast
Strive until one be under and one above.
Their breath is fire upon the amorous air,
Fire in thine eyes and where thy lips suspire:
And whosoever hath seen thee, being so fair,
Two things turn all his life and blood to fire;
A strong desire begot on great despair,
A great despair cast out by strong desire.
II.
Where between sleep and life some brief space is,
With love like gold bound round about the head,
Sex to sweet sex with lips and limbs is wed,
Turning the fruitful feud of hers and his
To the waste wedlock of a sterile kiss;
Yet from them something like as fire is shed
That shall not be assuaged till death be dead,
Though neither life nor sleep can find out this.
Love made himself of flesh that perisheth
A pleasure-house for all the loves his kin;
But on the one side sat a man like death,
And on the other a woman sat like sin.
So with veiled eyes and sobs between his breath
Love turned himself and would not enter in.
III.
Love, is it love or sleep or shadow or light
That lies between thine eyelids and thine eyes?
Like a flower laid upon a flower it lies,
Or like the night’s dew laid upon the night.
Love stands upon thy left hand and thy right,
Yet by no sunset and by no moonrise
Shall make thee man and ease a woman’s sighs,
Or make thee woman for a man’s delight.
To what strange end hath some strange god made fair
The double blossom of two fruitless flowers?
Hid love in all the folds of all thy hair,
Fed thee on summers, watered thee with showers,
Given all the gold that all the seasons wear
To thee that art a thing of barren hours?
IV.
Yea, love, I see; it is not love but fear.
Nay, sweet, it is not fear but love, I know;
Or wherefore should thy body’s blossom blow
So sweetly, or thine eyelids leave so clear
Thy gracious eyes that never made a tear—
Though for their love our tears like blood should flow,
Though love and life and death should come and go,
So dreadful, so desirable, so dear?
Yea, sweet, I know; I saw in what swift wise
Beneath the woman’s and the water’s kiss
Thy moist limbs melted into Salmacis,
And the large light turned tender in thine eyes,
And all thy boy’s breath softened into sighs;
But Love being blind, how should he know of this?
Au Musée du Louvre, Mars 1863.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Fret Not, My Beloved
Fret not, my beloved, for you are always with me;
This is my beauteous reality, not just a myth-be
Not there a moment whence thee are not present;
My darling, you are a gifting that is truly Heaven sent!
You occupy my thoughts, every single day and each solitary night,
Ne'er do I need want, to have you within my most humbled 'sight'!
Each dream I have seems to contain thee therein;
Upon awakening, I am brought to a reality, wherein
I long for thee still, as your presence is now passive-
Vexed not though, is my heart and its allegiant amative;
For, I am inspired not only by what now is, but
What is yet still, to be-for, no matter what
I simply must abide by the call of my heart and soul-
To be the mate of your's, their all-consuming goal!
You exist in the rainbow's hues, after a Summer rain;
That I am not now ever-enamored with thee, I could ne'er feign!
You are the figure I see, in Spring's billowed clouds,
My mind-my fragile heart's tutelar, now longer enshrouds,
Like the Winter wants for snowfall, I now want for thee;
Words are bereft to explicate what thou art, for me!
As the Fall sees to the annual arboreal renewal,
I shall see to all the wants and needs of my Guzel (g'zool) !
Maurice Harris,18 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Lap Of Luxury
I work all day and I work all night 4x
I work all day and I work all night
I work so my wife and kids will have a pleasant life
I work as many jobs as I can
Im proud to work I guess Im just a working man
-who am I to complain
I live in the lap of luxury
I got a car and a big tv thats so fine
I go to the pictures when I can
-the pictures take me to far-away lands
-almost makes me forget who I am
Sometimes at work Ive a fantasy
That Im a man who livesa life of mystery
(but) then the whistle brings me to
I cant forget why Im here, Ive got a job to do
-responsibility- is much more important to a man like me
I work all day and I work all night
I work all day and I work all night - etc. etc.
Guitar solo
I got a job at the factory
But I dont mind cause I know that the job is right for me
I dont complain Im satisfied
And I dont care to rub elbows with the wealthy
Theyve got their problems too, I dont envy them a bit dont ya know
Im doin what I want and it aint so bas
Ive got everything that a man could have
(Im) living in the lap of luxury - living in the lap of luxury
Work all day and I work all night
I work all day and I work all night etc. etc.
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night After Night
by Bob Dylan
Night after night you wander the streets of my mind.
Night after night don't know what you think you will find.
No place to go, nowhere to turn,
Everything around you seems to burn, burn, burn.
And there's never any mercy night after night.
Night after night
Night after night
Night after night some new plan to blow up the world.
Night after night another old man kissing some young girl.
You look for salvation, you find none.
Just another broken heart, another barrel of a gun,
Just another stick of dynamite night after night.
Night after night
Night after night
Night after night you drop dead in your bed,
Night after night another bottle finds a head.
Night after night I think about cutting you loose
But I just can't do it, what would be the use?
So I just keep a holding you tight night after night.
Night after night
Night after night
Night after night
Night after night
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To His Mistress
Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?
Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.
Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.
My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.
My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?
If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?
My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?
And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?
Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.
Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!
Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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I'm Watching You (A Mutant Romance)
Well it's ten o'clock
Jewel Jewel, and it's time to see you
Scan around the block
Oh, you Jewel in the monitor screen
I can usually find you near 42nd and 8th
A whore in a doorway (yeah)
I think I've found you Jewel, wit my T.V. beam
You know it's funny, the light in the night,
does something to your face
And the way you look, reminds me of a girl I used to want
in Junior High
The smile on your lips, and the shape of your hips,
excites me, and it makes me want to touch you
You're a whore for sure, but that's O.K.
Because I'm nothing, just another dirty spy with a T.V. eye
I can't stand it when you find a man, I wonder what he's sayin'
Does he tell you about his wife and kids at home?
Is he like me?
The one whose watching you in the night, in the night
Watching you in the night, in the night, in the night
Well you're back on the street, and I can love you
As a man can love a woman
and you know I'm here, but you think of me as a steel
machine
But, I'm watching you, all night
And, I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night
I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night ........
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Watching You
Well it's ten o'clock
Jewel jewel, and it's time to see you
Scan around the block
Oh, you jewel in the monitor screen
I can usually find you near 42nd and 8th
A whore in a doorway (yeah)
I think i've found you jewel, wit my t.v. beam
You know it's funny, the light in the night,
Does something to your face
And the way you look, reminds me of a girl i used to want
In junior high
The smile on your lips, and the shape of your hips,
Excites me, and it makes me want to touch you
You're a whore for sure, but that's o.k.
Because i'm nothing, just another dirty spy with a t.v. eye
I can't stand it when you find a man, i wonder what he's sayin'
Does he tell you about his wife and kids at home?
Is he like me?
The one whose watching you in the night, in the night
Watching you in the night, in the night, in the night
Well you're back on the street, and i can love you
As a man can love a woman
And you know i'm here, but you think of me as a steel
Machine
But, i'm watching you, all night
And, i'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night
I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night ........
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Visit
FAIN had I to-day surprised my mistress,
But soon found I that her door was fasten'd.
Yet I had the key safe in my pocket,
And the darling door I open'd softly!
In the parlour found I not the maiden,
Found the maiden not within her closet,
Then her chamber-door I gently open'd,
When I found her wrapp'd in pleasing slumbers,
Fully dress'd, and lying on the sofa.
While at work had slumber stolen o'er her;
For her knitting and her needle found I
Resting in her folded bands so tender;
And I placed myself beside her softly,
And held counsel, whether I should wake her.
Then I looked upon the beauteous quiet
That on her sweet eyelids was reposing
On her lips was silent truth depicted,
On her cheeks had loveliness its dwelling,
And the pureness of a heart unsullied
In her bosom evermore was heaving.
All her limbs were gracefully reclining,
Set at rest by sweet and godlike balsam.
Gladly sat I, and the contemplation
Held the strong desire I felt to wake her
Firmer and firmer down, with mystic fetters.
"Oh, thou love," methought, "I see that slumber,
Slumber that betrayeth each false feature,
Cannot injure thee, can nought discover
That could serve to harm thy friend's soft feelings.
"Now thy beauteous eyes are firmly closed,
That, when open, form mine only rapture.
And thy sweet lips are devoid of motion,
Motionless for speaking or for kissing;
Loosen'd are the soft and magic fetters
Of thine arms, so wont to twine around me,
And the hand, the ravishing companion
Of thy sweet caresses, lies unmoving.
Were my thoughts of thee but based on error,
Were the love I bear thee self-deception,
I must now have found it out, since Amor
Is, without his bandage, placed beside me."
Long I sat thus, full of heartfelt pleasure
At my love, and at her matchless merit;
She had so delighted me while slumbering,
That I could not venture to awake her.
Then I on the little table near her
Softly placed two oranges, two roses;
Gently, gently stole I from her chamber.
When her eyes the darling one shall open,
She will straightway spy these colourd presents,
And the friendly gift will view with wonder,
For the door will still remain unopen'd.
If perchance I see to-night the angel,
How will she rejoice,--reward me doubly
For this sacrifice of fond affection!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Fall of the Night
Fall of the Night
By: Adam M. Snow
Fare thee well, my heart's contempt,
I gave thee my dying breath.
I've soared the world from dark to day,
Longing for that which darkness grieves.
I travel o'er the ageless night,
Bound by that of solstice light.
My voice cannot break through
A silence that now binds me.
I see a vision of only thee,
a vision not I but thee.
Ev'ry night, It be thee not I,
A reflection shown to cast aside.
A mirror vision of I,
A mirror image of infanticide.
Forget me not I say,
I give thee my final hour,
Fare thee well, my dearest flower.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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