Sir Philip Sidney’s Sonnet 39
March 2, 2009, 4:53 pm
Filed under: Mysteries

Come sleep! O sleep, the certain knot of peace,

The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,

The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,

The indifferent judge between the high and low;

With sheild of proof sheild me from out the prease

Of those  fierce darts Dispair at me doth throw:

O make in me those civil wars to cease;

I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,

A rose garland, and a weary  head:

And if these things, as being thine by right,

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella’s image see.