Astrophil and Stella

Sonnet 99

When far-spent night persuades each mortal eye,
   To whom nor art nor nature granteth light,
   To lay his then mark-wanting shafts of sight,
Closed with their quivers, in sleep's armoury;
With windows ope, then most my mind doth lie,
   Viewing the shape of darkness, and delight
   Takes in that sad hue, which, with th' inward night
Of his mazed powers, keeps perfet harmony:
   But when birds charm, and that sweet air which is
Morn's messenger, with rose-enamelled skies
Calls each wight to salute the flower of bliss;
In tomb of lids then buried are mine eyes,
   Forced by their lord, who is ashamed to find
   Such light in sense, with such a darkened mind. 
Sir Philip Sidney

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