When far-spent night persuades each mortal eye, <br />To whom nor art nor nature granted light, <br />To lay his then mark-wanting shafts of sight, <br />Clos'd with their quivers, in sleep's armory; <br /> <br />With windows ope then most my mind doth lie, <br />Viewing the shape of darkness and delight, <br />Takes in that sad hue which the inward night <br />Of his maz'd powers keeps perfect harmony; <br /> <br />But when birds charm, and that sweet air which is <br />Morn's messenger, with rose enamel'd skies, <br />Calls each wight to salute the flower of bliss, <br /> <br />In tomb of lids then buried are mine eyes, <br />Forc'd by their lord, who is asham'd to find <br />Such light in sense, with such a darken'd mind.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-99-when-far-spent-night/
