
Weary With Toil Ian Krouse
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Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
The dear repose for limbs with travel tir’d;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:
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
The dear repose for limbs with travel tir’d;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:
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
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