Nov 01, 2005 20:19
Sonnet XXXIX by Sir Phillip Sydney
Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
The indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw;
O make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,
A rosy garland and a weary head:
And if these things, as being thine by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
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Whoa... That's the kinda stuff that should be taken up in English class.
(Too bad it's homework that fills everyone's time and keeps me from getting enough sleep. Friggin lab reports...)