Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.
In plain English
The speaker lies awake at night, tormented by thoughts of the young man. He wonders: is this the young man's doing? Is he somehow sending his presence or spirit to haunt the speaker's sleep, spying on his flaws and keeping him anxious? Is this jealousy made manifest?
No, the speaker corrects himself. The young man's love, though real, isn't powerful enough to reach across the distance like this. It's the speaker's own love doing the damage — his own obsession keeps him awake, standing guard over his feelings like a watchman at night.
While the young man is elsewhere, awake and surrounded by other people, the speaker stays up alone, lovesick and vigilant. Distance and the presence of rivals only sharpen the speaker's sleepless devotion.
