Lady your art or wit could nere devise <br />To shame me more then in this nights surprise. <br />Why I am quite unready, and my eye <br />Now winking like my candle, doth deny <br />To guide my hand, if it had ought to write; <br />Nor can I make my drowsie sense indite <br />Which by your verses musick (as a spell <br />Sent from the Sybellean Oracle) <br />Is charm'd and bound in wonder and delight, <br />Faster then all the leaden chains of night. <br />What pity is it then you should so ill <br />Employ the bounty of your flowing quill, <br />As to expend on him your bedward thought, <br />Who can acknowledge that large love in nought <br />But this lean wish; that fate soon send you those <br />Who may requite your rhimes with midnight prose? <br />Mean time, may all delights and pleasing Theams <br />Like Masquers revell in your Maiden dreams, <br />Whil'st dull to write, and to do more unmeet, <br />I, as the night invites me, fall asleep.<br /><br />Henry King<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-lady-who-sent-me-a-copy-of-verses-at-my-going-to-bed/
