Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven

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 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.

It is not night when I do see your face.

Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.

Let him smell his way to Dover!