The Sonnets

How can I then return in happy plight,

That am debarreʼd the benefit of rest?

When dayʼs oppression is not easʼd by night,

But day by night and night by day oppressʼd,

And each, though enemies to eitherʼs 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-complexionʼd night,

When sparkling stars twire not thou gildʼst the even.

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,

And night doth nightly make griefʼs length seem stronger.