uk2

Sleep, wayward thoughts, and rest you with my love;
   Let not my love be with my love displeased;
Touch not, proud hands, lest you her anger move,
   But pine you with my longings long diseased.
Thus, while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake;
So sleeps my love-and yet my love doth wake.

But O the fury of my restless fear,
   The hidden anguish of my chaste desires;
The glories and the beauties that appear
   Between her brows, near Cupid's closed fires!
Sleep, dainty love, while I sign for thy sake;
So sleeps my love-and yet my love doth wake.