Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt Edited by Kenneth Muir and Patricia Thomson |
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| CVIII. |
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 | Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt |  |
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[Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres]
Mornyng my hart dothe sore opres,
That ffors constraynethe me to complayne;
Ffor wher as I shuld haue redres,
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Againe.
That ffors constraynethe me to complayne;
Ffor wher as I shuld haue redres,
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Againe.
I serue, I sewe, all of one sorte;
My trust, my trayvell ys all in vayne;
As in dispere without comfforte:
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Agayne.
My trust, my trayvell ys all in vayne;
As in dispere without comfforte:
Alas, I cannot be lovyd Agayne.
Perdye, yt ys but now of late,
Not long ago ye knew my paygne;
Wyll your Rygore neuer Abate?
Alas, when shall I be louyd agayne?
Not long ago ye knew my paygne;
Wyll your Rygore neuer Abate?
Alas, when shall I be louyd agayne?
It ys bothe dethe and dedlye smart,
No sharp sorrow can now susstayne,
Then ffor to love with ffaythffull harte,
Alas, and cannot be lovyd agayne.
No sharp sorrow can now susstayne,
Then ffor to love with ffaythffull harte,
Alas, and cannot be lovyd agayne.
| Collected poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt | |