by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
- OW can I then return in happy plight
- That am debarred the benefit of rest,
- When day's oppression is not eased by night,
- And each, though enemies to either's reign,
- Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
- The one by toil, the other to complain
- How far I toil, still farther off from thee?
- I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
- And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
- So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
- When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the even.
- But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
- And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.