WHEN I DO MOCK
When I do mock the blackness of the nightWith my despair—outweep the very dewsAnd wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight,Denying every counsel of dear useIn mine embittered state; with infinitePerversity, mine eyes drink in no sightOf pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuseIn silver largess and gold twinklings bright;—I question me what mannered brain is mineThat it doth trick me of the very foodIt panteth for—the very meat and wineThat yet should plump my starved soul with goodAnd comfortable plethora of ease,That I might drowse away such rhymes as these.
When I do mock the blackness of the nightWith my despair—outweep the very dewsAnd wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight,Denying every counsel of dear useIn mine embittered state; with infinitePerversity, mine eyes drink in no sightOf pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuseIn silver largess and gold twinklings bright;—I question me what mannered brain is mineThat it doth trick me of the very foodIt panteth for—the very meat and wineThat yet should plump my starved soul with goodAnd comfortable plethora of ease,That I might drowse away such rhymes as these.
When I do mock the blackness of the nightWith my despair—outweep the very dewsAnd wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight,Denying every counsel of dear useIn mine embittered state; with infinitePerversity, mine eyes drink in no sightOf pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuseIn silver largess and gold twinklings bright;—I question me what mannered brain is mineThat it doth trick me of the very foodIt panteth for—the very meat and wineThat yet should plump my starved soul with goodAnd comfortable plethora of ease,That I might drowse away such rhymes as these.
When I do mock the blackness of the night
With my despair—outweep the very dews
And wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight,
Denying every counsel of dear use
In mine embittered state; with infinite
Perversity, mine eyes drink in no sight
Of pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuse
In silver largess and gold twinklings bright;—
I question me what mannered brain is mine
That it doth trick me of the very food
It panteth for—the very meat and wine
That yet should plump my starved soul with good
And comfortable plethora of ease,
That I might drowse away such rhymes as these.