Sonnet+39

Sonnet 39 Sir Philip Sidney

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 the low; With shield of prof shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts Despair 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 smoth 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 elsewhere, Stella's image see.