Worn down again, I hurry to my couch,
A resting place for body bushed and sore,
But restless thoughts for which I sadly vouch
Then stir my brain when muscles would I snore.

Indeed fair reveries of times long past
Insist on searching out a fading friend,
And hold unshuttered eyes wide-open fast
To peer on future loss I apprehend.

Yet all not lost, I send my soul ahead
To capture images no film can fix
Which, like the stars in darkness overhead
Light up the dimly outlined beauty trick.

And so, by day my flesh, by night my sense,
For you, and for myself, still more pretense.

*
*

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.