Sonnet 27

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 headTo work my mind, when body's work's expir'd: 4For 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: 8Save that my soul's imaginary sightPresents thy shadow to my sightless view,Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. 12Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

6 Intend: plan, set about9 imaginary: imaginative