Classic Poem

O night, the ease of care, the pledge of pleasure,
Desire's best meane, haruest of hearts affected,
The seate of peace, the throne which is erected
Of humane life to be the quiet measure;
Be victor still of Phaebus' golden treasure,
Who hath our sight with too much sight infected;
Whose light is cause we haue our liues neglected,
Turning all Nature's course to selfe displeasure.
These stately starres in their now shining faces,
With sinlesse sleepe, and silence, wisdome's mother,
Witnesse his wrong which by thy helpe is eased:
Thou art, therefore, of these our desart places
The sure refuge; by thee and by no other
My soule is blist, sense ioy'd, and fortune raysed.