midnight
And now to solve the problem : not to think , for my mind is in a regimen of truancy ; not to fail in pleasing , if it be possible , the great world 's implacable palate , therefore to eschew dilution of good liquor ; and yet to render up in fair array the fitting tale of pages : well , if I may not metaphysically draw upon internal resources , I can at least externally and physically resort to yonder -- desk ; -LRB- drawer would have savoured of the Punic , which Scipio and I blot out with equal hate ;-RRB- for therein lie _ perdus _ divers poeticals I fain would see in print ; yea , start not at `` poeticals , '' carp not at the threatening sound , for verily , even as carp -- so called from _ carpere _ , to catch if you can , and the Saxon capp , to cavil , because when caught they do n't pay for mastication -- even as carp , a muddy fish , difficult to hook , and provocate of hostile criticism , conceals its lack of savour in the flavour of port-wine -- even so shall strong prose-sauce be served up with my poor dozen of sonnets : and ye who would uncharitably breathe that they taste stronger of Lethe 's mud than of Helicon 's sweet water , treat me to a better dish , or carp not at my fishing . Imagination , as I need not tell psychologists by this time , is my tyrant ; I can not sleep , nor sit out a sermon , nor remember yesterday , nor read in peace , -LRB- how calm in blessed quiet people seem to read ! -RRB- without the distraction of a thousand fancies : I hold this an infirmity , not an accomplishment ; a thing to be conquered , not to be coveted : and still I love it , suffering those chains of gossamer to wind about me , that seductive honey-jar yet again to trap me , like some poor insect ; thus then my foolish idolatry heretofore hath hailed My fond first love , sweet mistress of my mind , Thy beautiful sublimity hath long Charm 'd mine affections , and entranced my song , Thou spirit-queen , that sit ` st enthroned , enshrined Within this suppliant heart ; by day and night My brain is full of thee : ages of dreams , Thoughts of a thousand worlds in visions bright , Fear 's dim terrific train , Guilt 's midnight schemes , Strange peeping eyes , soft smiling fairy faces , Dark consciousness of fallen angels nigh , Sad converse with the dead , or headlong races Down the straight cliffs , or clinging on a shelf Of brittle shale , or hunted thro ' the sky ! -- O , God of mind , I shudder at myself ! Now , friend reader , you have accustomed yourself to think that every thing in rhyme , _ i. e. _ , poetry , as you somewhat scornfully call it , must be false : and I am sorry to be obliged to grant you that a leaning towards plain matter-of-fact , is no wise characteristic of metrical enthusiasts . But believe me for a truth-teller ; that sonnet -LRB- did you read it ? -RRB-