O night, clear night, O dark and gloomy day!
O woful waking! O soul-pleasing sleep!
O sweet conceits which in my brains did creep,
Yet sour conceits which went so soon away!
A sleep I had more than poor words can say,
For, clos'd in arms, methought, I did thee keep;
A sorry wretch plung'd in misfortunes deep
Am I not, wak'd, when light doth lies bewray?
O that that night had ever still been black!
O that that day had never yet begun!
And you, mine eyes, would ye no time saw sun,
To have your sun in such a zodiac!
Lo! what is good of life is but a dream,
When sorrow is a never-ebbing stream.