 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
127
CX
[Alone musyng]
Alone musyng,
Remembryng
The woofull lyfe that I doo lede;
Then sore sythyng,
I lye crying
As one for payne nere dede.
Remembryng
The woofull lyfe that I doo lede;
Then sore sythyng,
I lye crying
As one for payne nere dede.
The vnkyndnes
Of my mystres
In great distres hath me brought;
Yet disdayneth she
To take petye
And settith my hart right naught.
Of my mystres
In great distres hath me brought;
Yet disdayneth she
To take petye
And settith my hart right naught.
Whoo wold haue thought
She wold haue wrought
Such sorow vnto my hart,
Seyng that I
Indeuered me
Frome her neuer to depart?
She wold haue wrought
Such sorow vnto my hart,
Seyng that I
Indeuered me
Frome her neuer to depart?
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |