When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
In plain English
When I sleep and close my eyes, I see you most clearly—in dreams. During the day, my eyes are useless, wasting themselves on ordinary sights. But at night, your image appears to me in sleep, glowing in the darkness.
You're so bright that even your shadow—your dream-image, a mere echo of you—shines brilliantly to my sleeping eyes. If that pale shadow alone can fill me with joy, imagine how blessed I'd be to see you in real daylight, with your actual radiance. Yet here I am, longing for what I can only touch in sleep.
Every waking day feels like nighttime to me until I'm with you. Only when I dream do the nights become bright and alive, because that's when you appear to me.
