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 expired:
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.
Writer : William Shakespeare
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Russia