Sonnet 28

How can I then return in happy plight,

That am debarr’d the benefit of rest?

When day’s oppression is not eased by night,

But day by night, and night by day, oppress’d?

And each, though enemies to either’s reign,

Do in consent shake hands to torture me,

The one by toil, the other to complain

How far I toil, still farther off from thee.

I tell the day, to please him, ‘thou art bright,’

And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;

So flatter I the swart-complexion’d night

When sparkling stars twire not, ‘thou gild’st the even.’

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,

And night doth nightly make grief ’s strength seem stronger.

How then can I return happily to my work

When I cannot even rest—

When day is not relieved by dark

But is by night, and night by day, oppressed?

And each, though enemies of each other’s power,

Conspire still to torture me,

The one by toil, the other, each late hour,

By asking why I work—for whom—where is she?

I try to appease the day. I say that it is bright,

Even when clouds conceal the heaven.

And likewise do I flatter the night,

Even when no stars are given.

But day, daily, draws my sorrows out,

And night, nightly, gives my grief more clout.