Sonnet 61

Is it thy will thy image should keep open

My heavy eyelids to the weary night?

Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,

While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?

Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee

So far from home into my deeds to pry,

To find out shames and idle hours in me,

The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?

O no, thy love, though much, is not so great:

It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,

Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,

To play the watchman ever for thy sake.

For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,

From me far off, with others all too near.

Is it your intention to keep me awake,

My eyes so tired in the cumbersome night?

Are there dreams that you’d rather not let sleeping make,

While I wrestle with thoughts that I can’t make right?

Are you sending your spirit to me

From afar, to pry into my secrets

And see the shames the night can see,

Filled with jealousy and regrets?

Sadly, no. Your love, though much, is not

So great for me. It’s my own love

That keeps me up, every thought

Forever vigilant. I will not move.

I watch for you while you awaken elsewhere,

Where I am far from you, and others too near.