Sonnet 98

WHen farre spent night perswades each mortal eie
To whome nor Art nor Nature graunted light:
To laye his then marke wanting shaftes of sight,
Clos'd with their quiuers in Sleeps armorie;
VVith windowes ope then most my heart doth lye
Viewing the shape of darknes and delight,
And takes that sad hue, with which inward might
Of his mazde powres he keepes iust harmony:
But when birds chirpe aire, and sweete aire which is
Mornes messenger with rose enameld skyes
Calls each wight to salute the heauen of blisse;
Intombd of lids then buried are mine eies,
Forst by their Lord who is ashamd to find
Such light in sense with such a darkned mind.