FROM
I d e a.
by Michael Drayton
LXX.
BLACK pitchy night, companion of my woe,
The inn of care, the nurse of dreary sorrow,
Why lengthenest thou thy darkest hours so,
Still to prolong my long-time-looked-for morrow ?
Thou sable shadow, image of despair,
Portrait of hell, the air's black mourning weed,
Recorder of revenge, remembrancer of care,
The shadow and the veil of every sinful deed ;
Death like to thee, so live thou still in death,
The grave of joy, prison of day's delight ;
Let heavens withdraw their sweet ambrosian breath,
Nor moon nor stars lend thee their shining light ;
For thou alone renew'st that old desire,
Which still torments me in day's burning fire.
|
Michael Drayton
