How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to
say
'Thus far the miles are measured from
thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my
woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in
me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did
know
His rider loved not speed, being made
from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his
hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his
side;
For that same groan doth put this in
my mind;
My grief lies onward and my joy
behind.
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Shakespeare's Sonnets:
