All English Sonnets
Where mind is weary, friend, do not so urge
That it befuddled blunders as it lives,
And loses all its keenness and upsurge,
Which but a little rest, ah! always gives
“ This body-this, its lonely dwelling place,
Is nothing but an empty useless shell,
If mind was absent from the earthen vase.”
So say the wise men, all the sages tell,
So when it- with its worldly duties tries,
You let it take its siesta, do its will.
And when it nightly for a wink retires,
Yes, let it rest in peace, and you be still.
For so much store of life force it will fetch
That in deep restful slumber you can stretch.