How can the speaker ever come home happy when he’s completely cut off from rest? That’s his immediate plea. He’s caught in a vicious loop where day’s exhausting labour isn’t soothed by night; instead, these two natural enemies join forces to torture him. Day wears him down with toil, and night only makes him complain that every effort leaves him even farther from the person he loves. He tries to sweet-talk them—telling day that his beloved’s radiance makes up for cloudy skies, telling night that his beloved lights up the evening more than any stars—but the flattery rings hollow. The final couplet lands brutally: day still draws his sorrows out longer, and night makes the grief feel even heavier. There’s no escape, just a weary, restless longing that turns time itself into an intimate enemy. The mood is one of quiet, relentless ache.
Sonnet 28: How can I then return in happy plight — Summary
How can I then return in happy plight, That am debarre'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppress'd, And each, though enemies to either's reign, Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.