the dear repose for limbs with travel tired

I slept extremely well last night, so well that I’m going to blog about it today. (I hope you stay awake!)  First, the title of the post today comes from Mr. Will Shakespeare and Sonnet #27, of which I have posted below.  This is my favorite sonnet for reasons you can read below:

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.

I often feel that my mind works harder at night than it does during the day (please don’t tell my boss!) and I think Will got it right (for those of you who want to play semantics, I realize that the sonnet is not about sleeping per se, but give me a break today please). 

Okay, back to last night.  I was ABSOLUTELY dog tired and usually when that happens I can’t sleep.  So just to make sure, I took one (1) Unisom last night and it k-n-o-c-k-e-d me out.  Totally.   To the piont where oblivion happened between 10:30 PM and 6:00 AM.  Total oblivion.  And BOY was it great.  I hope it happens again tonight.

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3 thoughts on “the dear repose for limbs with travel tired

  1. Mom says:

    It is the sleep you need when you can finally take the time (without the usually attached guilt trip) to actually have a good sleep! Hooray! See you on Monday.

  2. Jane Steen says:

    This is what I like about you, Tonja – you quote Shakespeare and listen to Handel’s Messiah. I was listening to a podcast (about books) the other day and learned the depressing fact that (in Britain at least) only 2% of the population reads regularly, and 90% of people do not read a book from one end of the year to another. I am beginning to feel more and more like a dinosaur! Yesterday at a family dinner I scored a book from my Amazon wishlist (a new biography of Florence Nightingale by Mark Bostridge, highly recommended by the Books & Culture newsletter) and was subjected to some teasing about actually wanting a book for Christmas. I can only console myself with the memory of watching Trinity grad students stagger around campus with piles of large and difficult looking books during Finals Week, but do they read for pleasure I wonder?

    Anyway, thanks for the sonnet; I’m not a big reader of Shakespeare’s sonnets (I prefer Donne) so I didn’t remember this one. I’ll copy it into my journal for future reference.

    Merry Christmas!!

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