Classic Poem

This night, while sleep begins with heavy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that unbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powers are brought
To leave the sceptre of all subject things,
The first that straight my fancy's error brings
Unto my mind is Stella 's image, wrought
By Love's own self, but with so curious draught
That she, methinks, not only shines but sings.
I start, look, heark, but what in closed-up sense
Was held, in opened sense it flies away,
Leaving me naught but wailing eloquence:
I, seeing better sights in sight's decay,
Called it anew, and wooed sleep again:
But him her host that unkind guest had slain.